I interrupted and said, “Those were my photographs, Colonel. Ms. Weber was just translating.”
“Ah, yes. So, I ask you, what was the name of that captain?”
“I have no idea.”
“You were not told who you were looking for?”
“No, I was not. What difference does it make to you? Do you think you would know him?”
He looked at me and said, “In fact, Mr. Vinh thought about your visit after you left, and…”
I could see that Colonel Mang was burning the neurons, and like me a few days ago, he had something almost in his grasp, but it kept slipping away.
I reminded him, “I’ve answered you truthfully. Now you know the purpose of my visit here. We’ve broken no laws. We need to leave.”
He was really in deep thought, and he knew instinctively that he was finally on to something. He asked me, “If you are investigating the murder of an American by an American, why did your government not request the help of my government?” He reminded me, “You pay millions for information about your missing soldiers.”
This was a really good question, and I recalled that I’d asked Karl the same thing, though within the question was the answer. It had taken me about two minutes at the Wall to answer it myself. It was taking Colonel Mang longer, so he repeated the question, as if to himself.
I replied, “As you learned from Mr. Vinh, this captain also murdered three Vietnamese civilians and stole valuables from the treasury at Quang Tri. My government thought it was best to avoid a situation where your government insisted on putting this captain on trial.”
Colonel Mang didn’t actually say, “Bullshit,” but he gave me that look that said, “Bullshit.” He said, “That answer is not satisfactory.”
“Then answer the question yourself.”
He nodded and rose to the challenge. He lit another cigarette, and I thought I heard a game show clock ticking.
Finally, he began studying the personal effects of Lieutenant William Hines. He picked up the MACV roster and looked at it. He said, “Mr. Vinh observed that a document with American names caused both of you to show some emotion.” He read the roster, then looked at me, then at Susan. He said something to her in Vietnamese, and I thought I heard the word dai-uy, captain, and definitely heard a Vietnamese-accented Blake.
Susan nodded.
Colonel Mang had the look of a man who had arrived at the truth. He was pleased with himself, but also a bit agitated, and maybe a little frightened. Like Karl, he could be looking at a general’s star, but if he used this knowledge the wrong way and took it to the wrong people in his government, he could wind up stamping visas on the Laotian border for the rest of his life. Or worse.
He looked at me and asked an astute question. “Are you going to protect this man, or expose him?”
I replied, “I was sent here to find and report the truth. I have no control over what happens to this man.”
He said to me, “You should have said you were sent here to expose him. I told you I did not like him.”
“I know what I should have said. You asked for the truth, and I gave you the truth. Do you want me to start lying again?”
He ignored that and said to us, “Give me your visas.”
This was the best news I’d heard in a while, and I gave him my visa. Susan, too, handed over her visa. He didn’t bother to ask for our passports because all three of us knew that the American embassy could issue two new passports in ten minutes, but without the Vietnamese-issued visas, we were not getting out of this country. But we were getting out of this building.
Colonel Mang said something to one of the goons, who left the room. He said to me, “I am going to let you and Miss Weber go to your reception.”
I wanted to congratulate him on a wise decision, but I said instead, “When may we expect to get our visas returned?”
“You do not need a visa to be re-arrested, Mr. Brenner.”
“I suppose not.”
The door opened and the goon returned with a female in uniform. She spoke to Susan in Vietnamese, and Susan let herself be subjected to a pat-down, which seemed to satisfy the requirements of a search without giving Susan too much to talk about at the Ambassador’s reception.
It was my turn, and the male goon patted me down.
All we really had on us were our wallets, and Mang examined the contents of both, then threw them on his desk. He said, “Take your wallets and leave.”
We both took our wallets and began packing our backpacks.
Mang said, “You know you are not taking any of that.”
I said, “We need the personal effects of Lieutenant Hines.”
“So do I. Leave.”
“I need my airline ticket.”
“You have no use for it.”
“We need our jackets.”
“Leave. Now.”
Susan said, “I want my film and camera.”
He looked at her, then at me and said, “Your arrogance is absolutely astounding. I give you your life, and you argue with me about what I have taken in exchange for your life.”
He had a point, and I took Susan’s arm.
He said, “Wait. There is something you can take with you to your party. Take the photographs from the floor.”
I could almost hear Susan telling him to go fuck himself, so I said quickly, “Ms. Weber already sent her set to the commercial attaché at the embassy. Thank you.”
He smiled, “And I will send this set to Ambassador and Mrs. Quinn. They should know they are hosting a whore in their house.”
Susan smiled sweetly and said, “I’ll pass on your regards to the Interior Minister.”
“Thank you. Be sure to tell him that his friend Edward Blake is a murderer and a thief.”
I shouldn’t have replied, but I said, “You should tell him yourself, Colonel. You have the evidence and you have Tran Van Vinh. But be careful. You have a tiger by the tail.”
We made eye contact, and in that brief moment, I think we saw ourselves in each other’s faces; we, he and I, America and Vietnam, kept bumping into each other, at all the wrong times, in all the wrong places, and for all the wrong reasons.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
The goons escorted us down to the lobby and out the front doors. Susan said something they didn’t like, and they said good-bye with a push.
We stood in the dark street a second, then Susan took my hand, and we moved toward a lighted avenue a few blocks away. Susan said, “Why didn’t you tell him about the Ambassador’s reception sooner?”
“I kept forgetting.”
She squeezed my fingers together in a powerful grip and it hurt. She said, “Not funny.”
I said, “I don’t think the Ambassador’s party is what got us out of there. Edward Blake got us out of there.”
She didn’t reply.
We put some distance between us and the Ministry of Fear, and reached a broad avenue named Pho Tran Hung Pao, which should be renamed.
Susan got her bearings, and we turned right. We passed a big, ugly modern building that Susan said was the Cultural Palace, and where a lot of cabs and cyclos were parked. I said, “We should get a taxi.”
“I need to walk. It’s not far.”
We continued down the busy avenue. She took her cigarettes out of her jeans and lit up with a match. She said, “At least he didn’t take my smokes.”
“He’s not that sadistic.”
We continued along the busy avenue, and because the weather was cool many of the men wore sweaters or heavy sports jackets, and most wore berets or pith helmets. No one was wearing a smile, including me. This place somehow wiped the smile off your face, especially if you’d just come from Yet Kieu Street.
Susan said, “He’s got all our evidence. What do you think he’s going to do with it?”