He didn’t reply.
I added, “You’re frightening the tourists.”
“Yes? But I do not seem to frighten you.”
“Not even close.”
“The night is young. Have you ever been to Hanoi, Mr. Brenner?”
“No, but friends of mine flew over during the war, though they didn’t stop.” Good one.
He smiled and said, “In fact, some did stop and were lodged in the Hanoi Hilton.”
Not bad. I love pissing contests. It was my turn, and I said, “I wanted to see the Air Defense Museum, but I was told there was nothing to see.”
He asked me, “Would you like to see the inside of the Ministry of Public Security?”
“Thank you, but I’ve already seen the one in Saigon.”
“Ho Chi Minh City.”
“Whatever.” He seemed reluctant to act on his threat, or maybe he was having too much fun here on the street. In any case, I said to him, “Ms. Weber and I have called the duty officer at the embassy to register our presence in Hanoi. Perhaps you and I can speak tomorrow. Let’s say cocktails at six, Metropole bar. I’ll buy. Date?”
He stared at me in the dim light and said, “You did not call your embassy.” He continued, “I understand that you think I am influenced by diplomatic considerations. But I tell you this, Mr. Brenner, if I have fifteen minutes alone with you and Miss Weber, I will prove that both of you are in this country on behalf of your government and that you are acting against my country.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“I will be very specific when I have you in an interrogation room.”
We seemed to be at an impasse here. I wanted to go to a five-star hotel, and Colonel Mang wanted me in jail. But he wanted to be sure he wasn’t making a bad career decision, so we were chatting on the street, and he wanted me or Susan to do or say something to justify an arrest. I’ve been there myself, but I wasn’t too sympathetic to his dilemma.
Colonel Mang had a solution and said to me, “I would like both of you to accompany me, voluntarily, to the Ministry of Public Security for a discussion.”
I’ve said this thousands of times to suspects, and most of them never went home that day. I replied, “This is a joke. Right?”
“No. It is not a joke.”
“Sounds like a joke.”
He seemed either confused or annoyed that I’d turned down his invitation. He said, “If you come voluntarily, I promise you, you will be free to leave within an hour.”
Susan reminded him, “You said you needed only fifteen minutes with us.”
I’d gotten to the point where I could read Colonel Mang, and I saw that he was really pissed. I noticed, too, that Susan pissed him off more than I did. I don’t think Mang and I had actually bonded, but I was certain he hated Susan. For this reason, among many others, I didn’t want her in his clutches. I said to him, “Colonel, I have a suggestion. Take us to the embassy and let Ms. Weber go inside. Then, I’ll go with you voluntarily to the ministry.”
He didn’t think too long about that and said, “No.”
Susan, too, said, “No, wherever we go, we go together.”
No one was cooperating with me, so I said to Mang, “Okay, let us make a call to the duty officer at the embassy and inform him or her that we’ve arrived in Hanoi, and that Colonel Nguyen Qui Mang would like to ask us a few questions and that we are accompanying him to the Ministry of Public Security. Voluntarily, of course. You can listen to the call.”
He shook his head.
Colonel Mang didn’t know how to do a deal. Or, he didn’t think he had to make one.
I said to him, “Well, Colonel, I’m out of ideas.” I took Susan’s arm and said to Mang, “Good evening.”
Mang lost it and shouted, “Dung lai!” forgetting his English.
I looked at him.
He was hyperventilating again, and now that we’d called him out, he needed to do something. He spoke to the guy in the passenger seat, who got out and opened the rear door. I hoped Colonel Mang was leaving, but no such luck. He looked over his shoulder to be certain the American tourists were all gone, then said to us, “Get in the car.”
Neither Susan nor I moved.
He smiled and said, “Are you frightened?”
“No. Are you?”
“Why should I be frightened? Get in the car.”
I replied, “Someone has to pull a gun on us for us to get in the car.”
He understood and nodded in appreciation. He said something to the guy standing near the car, who was happy to be of assistance, and he pulled his gun on us.
I took Susan’s arm, and we got in the rear of the sedan. Mang got in the passenger seat, and the guy with the gun stayed behind.
We drove in silence through the streets of the Old Quarter, and within a few minutes, we slowed down in front of the Metropole Hotel, a huge stately building that looked as if it belonged in Paris.
I thought Colonel Mang had changed his mind, and I said to him, “Thanks for the ride.”
He turned in his seat and said, “I wanted you to see where you will not be spending the night.”
Asshole.
The sedan headed west through the Old Quarter. Just to satisfy myself that these people weren’t complete idiots, I tried the door handle, but it was locked.
This situation had gone from bad to worse, and it showed no signs of getting better. I explored my options, but there weren’t any except going violent, which I was prepared to do. Mang had no weapon that I could see, but the driver did, so the driver had to be taken out first. I glanced out the rear window and saw a backup car following. I had to decide, as they’d taught me in my army POW escape and evasion course, if physical resistance was possible, and if it was, what the consequences were of a failed attempt. Sometimes you compound a small or medium problem by snapping someone’s neck; other times, you solve the problem. It depended, I guess, on what was at the end of this ride.
I mulled this over, taking into account the backup car, and the fact that Susan and I were not pre-rehearsed for a coordinated escape attempt.
The car made a turn, and I leaned toward her and whispered. “Gun?”
She shook her head and said, “That was a joke.”
Mang said, “No talking.”
We turned down a narrow, badly lit street whose sign said Yet Kieu, and we stopped in front of a large colonial-era five-story building. The backup car stopped behind us.
Colonel Mang took an attaché case from the seat and got out without a word.
Susan poked me and said softly, “Ambassador’s reception, Paul.”
“Is that tonight?”
“Paul.”
“Only play the ace when you need it.”
She looked at me. “I think we need it.”
Two guys from the backup car came toward the sedan and opened the rear doors. Susan and I got out, and we were escorted, not gently, to the front door of the Ministry of Public Security, where Colonel Mang stood.
A guard opened the door, and Colonel Mang entered, followed by Susan and me with the two goons.
The big lobby was very run-down, and it reminded me of its counterpart in Saigon. There were a few uniformed and civilian-dressed men walking around, and they looked at us as though they didn’t see that many Westerners inside this ministry, though they’d probably like to see more.
Colonel Mang led us to an old, cage-type elevator and said something to the operator as the five of us entered.
We rode up in silence and got out on the fourth floor, which was dimly lit and decrepit. There were a number of closely spaced doors on one side of the corridor, and from behind one of them I could hear a man cry out in pain, followed by the sound of a slap, and another cry of pain. One door was slightly ajar, and I heard a woman weeping.