“No problem.”
“Well, it is. First of all, it’s illegal for foreigners to rent cars, but you can get an official government-licensed car and driver through the state-run travel agency called Vidotour — but you don’t want that for the secret part of your mission. Right?”
“Makes sense to me.”
“There are private travel agencies, and private cars and drivers, but the government does not officially recognize them, and sometimes in some places they don’t exist, or you can’t use them. Understand?”
“Can I rent a bicycle?”
“Sure. The country is run by the local Party chiefs, like old-time warlords, and they make up the rules, plus the central government in Hanoi keeps changing the rules for foreigners. It’s chaos, but you can usually get around some of the restrictions by making donations to key individuals. When I was there, five bucks usually did the trick. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“There are also intercity buses — torture buses, they call them, and you’ll see why if you need to get on one. And there’s the old French railroad along the coast, which is now up and running. There will be no tickets available on any public transportation during the Tet holiday, but a fiver will get you on board anything that moves, except an aircraft. You should avoid local airports in any case. Too much security there.”
“Did I mention that I had plans to go to Aruba?”
“This is much more meaningful, and the weather will be just as nice.”
“Right. Please continue.”
“Thank you.” He continued, “Regarding travel, bribes, and so forth, you may ask your Saigon contact for advice. This person should know the ropes. But don’t be too specific.”
“All right.”
“By the time you get to Hue, with luck, we’ll have for you at least the location of Tran Van Vinh’s native village of Tam Ki. Because it is the Tet holiday, the chances are very good that you will find many people of the family of Tran in that village.” He looked at me. “Right?”
I replied, “It occurs to me, Mr. Conway, that the information about this murder didn’t come to light a few days ago, but perhaps a few weeks or months ago, and you’ve waited until the Tet holiday to send me to Vietnam because that’s, as you say, when people return to their native villages, and that’s also when the security forces and police are least effective.”
Mr. Conway smiled at me and said, “I don’t know when we got this information, and what your bosses know that you — and perhaps I — don’t know. But it is fortunate that you’ll be in Vietnam at this holiday time.” He added, “During Tet of ’68, the Communists caught you guys with your pants down. Maybe you can return the favor.”
“An interesting thought. Sort of symmetrical, like the balanced Scales of Justice. But I really don’t give a rat’s ass about revenge, or any of that. The fucking war is over. If I’m going to do this, I don’t need or want a personal motive. I’m just doing the job I said I’d do. Understood?”
“Don’t rule out some personal motivation once you get there.”
I didn’t reply.
“Okay, you make your rendezvous in Hue on the Sunday, but if it’s a no-go for any reason, then Monday is the backup day, and you’ll be contacted in some way at your hotel. If you’re not contacted, then it’s time to get out of the country, quickly. Understand?”
I nodded.
Mr. Conway said, “All right, assuming all is going well, you leave Hue on Tuesday. This is the difficult part of the trip. You need to get to Tam Ki by any means possible, and to be there within two days, three latest. Why? Because the Tet holiday lasts for four days after New Year’s Day, so everyone who has returned to their ancestral homes should still be there before heading back to wherever they live at the moment. This guy Tran Van Vinh may live full-time in Tam Ki, but we don’t know that. Best to be there when you know he’ll be there. Understand?”
Again, I nodded.
Mr. Conway continued, “In any case, win, lose, or draw, you need to be in Hanoi no later than the following Saturday, which is the fifteenth day of your trip. You are booked into the Sofitel Metropole, and I have a voucher for you for one night.” He tapped his plastic bag and said, “You may or may not be contacted in Hanoi. More importantly, you will leave the next day, Sunday, the sixteenth day of your trip, well before your standard twenty-one-day visa expires. Okay?”
“I wanted to sightsee in Hanoi.”
“No, you want to get out of there as soon as possible.”
“Sounds even better.”
He said, “You are booked on Cathay Pacific from Hanoi to Bangkok on Sunday. You’ll be met in Bangkok and be debriefed there.”
“What if I’m in jail? Do I need an extension on my visa?”
Mr. Conway smiled, ignored me, and said, “Okay, money. There’s an envelope in this bag with one thousand American dollars, in singles, fives, and tens, all non-accountable. You may legally use greenbacks in the Socialist Republic of Vietnam. In fact, they prefer it. Also in the bag is a million dong, about a buck-fifty — just kidding. About a hundred bucks, to get you started. The average Vietnamese makes about three or four hundred dollars a year, so you’re rich. And there’s another thousand in American Express traveler’s checks, which better hotels and restaurants will accept, and which some banks on some days will exchange for dong, depending on their mood. There is an American Express office in Saigon, Hue, and Hanoi. That’s all in your guidebook. Use your own credit card whenever you can. You’ll be reimbursed. The army has authorized you temporary duty pay of five hundred dollars a day, so you should see a nice check when you return.” He added, “Jail time is double pay.”
I looked at Conway and saw he wasn’t joking. I asked, “For how many days?”
“I don’t know. I never asked. Do you want me to find out?”
“No. What else?”
“A couple of things — like getting you out of the country. As I said, Cathay Pacific from Hanoi, but as I also said, it may develop that you need to leave earlier and more quickly from some other place. We have a few contingency plans for that. Want to hear them?”
“On this subject, you have my undivided attention.”
Mr. Conway outlined some other methods of leaving Vietnam, via Laos, Cambodia, China, by boat, and even by cargo plane out of Da Nang. I didn’t particularly like or believe in any of them, but I said nothing.
Conway said, “Okay, Tam Ki. That is your destination before Hanoi. One way or the other, we will locate this place, and get the information to you in Hue, at the latest. Once in Tam Ki, you will, as I said, probably find many people whose family names are Tran. You might need an interpreter before you get to Tam Ki because they won’t be speaking much English there. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“You know a little French, correct?”
“A real little.”
“Sometimes the older folks and the Catholic clergy speak some French. But try to get an English-speaking guide or interpreter. Now, I don’t have to tell you that an American asking around about a guy named Tran Van Vinh in a tiny village of Trans might draw some attention. So think about how you’re going to handle that. You’re a cop. You’ve done this before. Get a feeling for the situation, the people—”
“I understand. Go on.”
Mr. Conway went on, “Okay, my personal belief is that Tran Van Vinh is dead. Got to be. Right? The war, his age, and so forth. If he was killed in the war, chances are his body is someplace else, like his brother’s was in the A Shau Valley. But there will be a family altar in his memory. We need you to make an absolute confirmation and verification of death. Sergeant Tran Van Vinh, age between fifty and sixty, served in the People’s Army, saw action at Quang Tri, deceased brother named Tran Quan Lee—”