I typed: Let me know by Hanoi.
He replied: By Bangkok, latest.
I replied: Roger.
Karl sent me an early valentine: Good luck, Paul, God speed, and safe home.
I sat at the keyboard a long moment, knowing this might be the last message from home for a long time. I knew that feeling, from the last two times, when I spoke to my parents on a special radiophone that the GIs could use about twice a year. I typed: I’m glad I came back. I’m confident I’ll be successful and home on time. Love to Cynthia.
Karl replied: Roger. Further?
Negative.
Out.
I signed off, deleted everything, and sat there awhile, then stood and went to the sideboard. I made myself a Scotch on the rocks and skipped the soda.
Susan asked me, “Is everything okay?”
“Yes.”
She thought a moment and said to me, “If you’re not able to travel tomorrow… if they keep you here for a few days, I can make a business trip for you. Meet someone, or whatever.”
I looked at her and smiled. “Thank you. That’s a very nice offer, but it’s a lot more complex than that. Okay, how do I get to Nha Trang?”
“I’ll e-mail the company’s travel agent and see what I can do.” She sat down at her desk. “Do you want me to try to book you a room somewhere, or do you want to wing it?”
“I’ll need to give Mang an address.”
“Not necessarily. Every major town has an Immigration Police office. Basically, they watch foreigners. So, if you tell Mang you have no address in Nha Trang, he will tell you to report to the Immigration Police either on your arrival, or after you’ve found a place to stay.”
I thought about that, then said to Susan, “I’ll find a place to stay when I get there.” I added, “In fact, I’ll try to find the R&R hotel on the beach that the army took over during the war. That should be a nostalgia trip.”
“Should be. What was the name of it?”
“Don’t remember. An old French place. But I’ll recognize it. In any case, I’ll fax you here after I check in to someplace. If I don’t contact you within twenty-four hours of my departure from Saigon, contact my firm.”
“I’m here to help.” She turned her attention to her computer and started typing. She said, “I’m asking my travel agent about a train or mini-bus reservation to Nha Trang for tomorrow. Planes have been booked for months. I’m offering twice the ticket price, which is already quadrupled for foreigners. Okay?”
“It’s not my money.”
“Good.” She continued typing and said, “I’m also asking her about a private car. There’s also a hydrofoil to Nha Trang, though I’m sure everything’s booked. But we’ll get you to Nha Trang, even if I have to put you on the torture bus.”
“A private car sounds like the way to go. Money is no object. Will this travel agent get back to you ASAP?”
“She’s in at 8 A.M. — Saigon starts early. You’ll be seeing Colonel Mang at about that time. I will meet you in the lobby of the Rex, and we’ll see if you need to go to Nha Trang, or the airport and home.” She added, “And if you’re not at the Rex by, say, noon, then I know who to contact.”
“Do you mind if I give the instructions?”
She looked up from her keyboard and said, “Mr. Brenner, this is not rocket science, and I learn fast. I’ve taken the responsibility of getting you out of Saigon, or reporting your detention or expulsion. Let’s do this my way.”
My goodness. Ms. Weber really was a different lady in her office. Or maybe she was a little miffed at me for not wanting her along on the trip.
She continued banging away at the keyboard and said, “I’m now e-mailing my boss, Jack Swanson, saying I won’t be in until tomorrow afternoon.”
It seemed to me that there was a lot of typing going on for these relatively simple messages.
Ms. Weber shut down her computer, stood, finished her drink, and said to me, “Let me take you to dinner.”
“That’s very nice of you. But I do have an expense account.”
“So do I. And I’m going to tell you why you should invest in Vietnam. It’s the Pacific Rim country with the most potential for growth.”
I replied, “I’ve already invested enough in Vietnam.”
She didn’t reply, walked toward the door, and put her hand on the light switch. “Ready?”
I said, “Please print out the fax report and shred it.”
“Oh… you’re a real pro.” She went to the alcove, printed out the fax activity report, and ran it through the shredder.
I took the camera and the exposed roll of film from her desk and said, “Please put this in your safe.”
She punched the keypad on her safe, and I gave her the film and the camera, which she put in the safe and closed the door.
We left the office and walked around the perimeter of the suite. Susan pointed out the library, the conference room, and a lunch room that looked like a French café.
She said, “We treat ourselves well here. It’s cheap, and it’s a mental health perk. Here’s the workout room and the showers.” We entered a room with a few exercise machines. Through an open door, I saw a massage table.
I thought we were going to our respective places of residence to clean up, but Susan indicated a door that said Men, and informed me, “There’s everything you need in there. I’ll be in the ladies’ shower.”
“If I need anything.”
“Behave. See you here in the exercise room.”
I went into the men’s locker room, got undressed, and stepped into a big shower stall. I turned on the water, got a handful of soap from a liquid dispenser, and washed off the grime of the last twelve hours.
Some men sing in the shower; I think. And what I thought was that no one and nothing here in Saigon or in Washington was as it seemed.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I went into the exercise room, found Friday’s Wall Street Journal Asian edition on a chair, sat, and read.
It was quiet in the empty building, and from behind the door of the ladies’ locker room, I could hear a muffled voice, and I was fairly sure it was Susan making her promised phone call to Bill.
About ten minutes later, Susan came out of the locker room wearing a long yellow sleeveless silk dress, and slung over her shoulder was a small leather pouch. The dust was off her face, and she was very tan. Her hair was neatly parted in the middle and hung over her shoulders. A little lip gloss completed the makeover. I stood and said, “You look lovely.”
She didn’t reply to my rare compliment, and I had the impression she’d had a little tiff with Bill. I said, “Maybe I should go back to the Rex and change.”
“You’re fine.”
We went into the reception area, the elevator came, and we got off in the lobby. She said to me, “I’ve had enough driving. We’ll take cyclos.”
I followed her out the doors and onto the sidewalk. We walked for about ten seconds before a flock of cyclos descended on us.
Susan haggled with the cyclo drivers, and I looked at them. They were poorly dressed, scrawny, and not young. A guy I knew who’d been here told me the cyclo guys were mostly former ARVN, and this was one of the few jobs open to them as former enemies of the state.
Susan cut a deal with two of them, and we each hopped into a cyclo and off we went up Dien Bien Phu Street. Susan called over to me, “It cost me double for you because of your weight.”
I looked at her and saw that she wasn’t kidding. I said, “You’re lucky they don’t charge by IQ.”
“You’d ride for free.”