He smiled and said, “You were not listening to me, Mr. Brenner. I do not care about your embassy or your government. In fact, I welcome a confrontation.”
“Well, Colonel, you’re about to have one.”
“You are wasting my time.” He looked at Susan and said, “I realize I have been ignoring you.”
“Actually, I’m ignoring you.”
He laughed. “I think you do not like me.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Why? Because of those photographs? Or because you have a racially superior attitude toward the Vietnamese, like so many of your countrymen?”
I said, “Hold on. This line of questioning is—”
“I am not speaking to you, Mr. Brenner.” He added, “But if I were, I would ask you how many times you used the racial expressions gook, slope, zipperhead, and slant-eyes. How many times?”
“Probably too many times. But not in the last twenty-five years. Get off this subject.”
“This subject interests me.” He looked at Susan. “Why are you in my country?”
“I like it here.”
“I do not believe that.”
She said to him, “I don’t care if you believe it or not, but I love the people of this country, and the culture, and the traditions.”
He said, “You forgot to mention the money.”
“But I don’t like your government, and, no, the government and the people are not the same.” She added, “If you were an American, I’d still find you disgusting and detestable.”
I figured we’d be on the elevator to the basement in about three seconds, but Colonel Mang just stared off into space. Finally he said, “The problem is still the foreigners.” He added, “There are too many tourists here and too many businesspeople. Soon, there will be two less.”
Again, I was fairly sure he was referring to us.
Susan advised him, “Look closer to home for the cause of your problems. Start here in this building.”
Colonel Mang said to her, “We do not need you or any foreigners to tell us how to run our own country. Those days are over, Miss Weber. My generation and my father’s generation paid in blood to liberate this country from the West. And if we need another war to get rid of the capitalists and the Westerners, then we are prepared to make the sacrifice once again.”
Susan said, “You know that’s not true. Those days are also over.”
Colonel Mang changed the subject back to getting Susan and me in front of a firing squad where he felt more confident. He turned his attention to me and said, “You left Hue by motorcycle early Tuesday morning and arrived in Dien Bien Phu very late on Wednesday evening where you registered at the Dien Bien Phu Motel.”
“Correct.”
“And on Thursday morning you visited the battlefields, and told the guide you were Canadian historians, and I believe botanists.”
“I said Connecticut historians.”
“What is that?”
“Connecticut. Part of the United States.”
He seemed a little confused, so I added, “Nutmeg State.”
He let that go and continued, “Later that day, you both arrived by motorcycle in the village of Ban Hin, again posing as… historians.”
I didn’t reply.
“Miss Weber very specifically told a man in the village market square that you were Canadians. Why did you pose as Canadians?”
“Some people don’t like Americans. Everyone likes Canadians.”
“I do not like Canadians.”
“How many Canadians do you know?”
He saw I was getting him off the subject, and he also saw I was stalling for time. In truth, if we had any chance of getting out of here, it had to do with whether or not he intended to keep us beyond the time we might be missed. But I wondered if anyone in Washington, Saigon, or the embassy here would really be concerned at this point. Tomorrow, yes, tonight, maybe not. The Ambassador’s reception sounded like an optional attendance, and we might not be missed. Certainly I wouldn’t be missed if I was supposed to be floating in the Na River next to Mr. Vinh. I considered playing my little ace, but my instincts said Colonel Mang wasn’t ready for it.
He asked me, “Why did you go to Ban Hin?”
“You know why.”
“I do. But to be quite honest, I cannot make much sense of your visit to Tran Van Vinh. So, you can explain it to me.”
There were five names I didn’t want to hear from Colonel Mang tonight, or ever: Mr. Thuc, Mr. Cam, Mr. Anh, Mr. Uyen, and Tran Van Vinh. He’d already used three of them. As for Tran Van Vinh, loyal comrade that he was, he’d been fully cooperative with Colonel Mang, but not totally enlightening. I was more concerned about Mr. Anh and Mr. Uyen, who’d made the mistake of sticking out their necks for the Americans, just as twenty million other South Viets had done during the war. You’d think these people would learn. In any case, those two names hadn’t yet come up, but I understood Colonel Mang’s interrogation techniques by now, and I knew that he skipped around, and saved the best for last.
He was getting impatient with my silence and asked again, “Perhaps you can explain to me the purpose of your visit to Mr. Vinh.”
I replied, “I’m sure Mr. Vinh told you the purpose of my visit.”
“He told me of your visit by telephone, but I have not had a chance to speak to him in person.” Colonel Mang looked at his watch and said, “He should be arriving shortly by plane, then I will discuss this with him further. In the meantime, you should tell me why you paid him a visit.”
“All right, I will.” Sticking close to the truth, I gave Colonel Mang the same story I gave to Tran Van Vinh about the letter, the Vietnam Veterans of America, the family of Lieutenant William Hines, the apparent murder of the lieutenant by an unknown captain — no use mentioning the vice president of the United States — and that while I was in Vietnam on a nostalgia trip, I had promised I’d look into this matter for the Hines family.
I finished my story, and I could see that Colonel Mang was deep in thought. He’d already heard this from Tran Van Vinh, and this story was sort of a curveball and didn’t fit into anything he suspected or knew. Of course, this turn of events raised more questions than it answered for Colonel Mang, and I could see he was perplexed. Next, he’d want to see the war souvenirs in Susan’s backpack. I had the feeling we’d be here a long time. Like maybe forever.
Colonel Mang looked at Susan and asked her, “Do you agree with this story?”
She replied, “I’m just the slut along for the ride.”
He looked at her and inquired, “What is a slut?”
She replied in Vietnamese and he nodded, like this was the first thing he’d believed from either of us so far. He did say, however, “But you have this connection to Mr. Stanley that makes me suspicious.”
She replied, “I’ve slept with half the Western men in Saigon, Colonel. You shouldn’t attach any meaning to my relationship with Bill Stanley.”
Sometimes, as they say in my profession, naked is the best disguise. Colonel Mang seemed genuinely pleased to have his opinion of Susan confirmed by the slut herself, even though that made the Bill Stanley liaison not so incriminating.
Also, of course, Colonel Mang was now wondering about my attachment to Susan Weber, and if he could get to me through her. In truth, I’ve been very loyal to sluts in the past, but Colonel Mang didn’t know that, so I gave Susan a glance of annoyance, and turned my body away from her.
Colonel Mang seemed to notice, and he said to Susan, “You are no better than the prostitutes on the streets of Saigon.”