I said, “This conversation will be conducted in English.”
Susan said to me, “He asked me if American women make a habit of sleeping with men they’ve just met. I told him it was an insulting question.”
I said to Colonel Mang, “Do Vietnamese officers make a habit of insulting women?”
He said to me, but not to Susan, “I am trying to determine the true nature of your relationship.”
“Why? It’s not your business.”
“I think it is. You are aware, of course, that your friend here has been sleeping with the CIA station chief in Ho Chi Minh City.”
I took a deep breath and replied, “I am aware she had a boyfriend.”
“Yes? And you know this boyfriend. You told me so yourself. Mr. Bill Stanley. The CIA station chief for all of the south of Vietnam.”
Of all the names for me to pick when I was telling Mang who booked my train reservations to Nha Trang, I pick the fucking CIA guy. But that’s what happens when the bozos in Washington decide you have no need to know something you need to know.
“Mr. Brenner? Why are you sleeping with your friend’s girlfriend?”
I said, “I only know Bill Stanley as an employee of the Bank of America.”
“Yes? So, you did not know your friend was the CIA station chief?”
“You say he is, and he’s not my friend.”
“But you said you went to university together. Princeton.”
I glanced at Susan, who looked confused. Someday, my flip remarks were going to get me into trouble; in fact, the day had arrived. I said to Colonel Mang, “How could we have been classmates when he’s at least ten years younger than me?”
“That’s what I wondered, Mr. Brenner.”
“Well, I was making a joke.”
“What is the joke?”
“It’s hard to explain. Colonel, I don’t know Bill Stanley, and he’s not my friend.”
“But he is a CIA agent. It is perfectly all right. The CIA knows who our intelligence man is in our embassy in Washington. One cannot hide these things. In fact, Mr. Stanley has nothing to do with the Bank of America and is a consulate officer in the Economic Development section. That is not his real job, of course, but it provides him with the diplomatic immunity he needs to carry out his other work. And yet you, Mr. Brenner, his friend, did not know this. Amazing.”
Truly amazing. And Colonel Mang was a little sharper, and more sarcastic and ironic than I’d thought.
“What am I to believe, Mr. Brenner?”
I glanced at Susan, who looked a little anxious. She could have been pissed off at me for using Bill Stanley’s name, but she was probably more pissed off about how this whole thing had been handled.
“Mr. Brenner? What am I to believe?”
I replied, “I don’t know Bill Stanley.”
“But you told me you did know him.”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“Well, I’ll tell you why. It was Ms. Weber who arranged the train tickets to Nha Trang, but I didn’t want to use her name, so I used her boyfriend’s name. Biet?”
“No, I do not understand. Why would you do that?”
“Look, Colonel, if I knew that Bill Stanley was a CIA agent, why would I use his name in a conversation with you?”
“That is what I am trying to determine, Mr. Brenner.”
“Right. Well, the answer is, I don’t know Bill Stanley, or who he works for, and I don’t know anyone in Saigon, but I remembered his name and place of employment from something Ms. Weber said, so I gave you his name instead of hers.”
He asked, “But why? You have not answered that question.”
“You answer it for me.”
“How can I answer it for you? You should answer it.”
“Okay… I didn’t want Ms. Weber’s name to come to the attention of the police in any way, no matter how innocent the context. She lives here, and I didn’t want to compromise her business activities. You understand that.”
“Perhaps. But I do not understand your connection to Mr. Stanley.”
“There is no connection.” Asshole.
“Ah, but there is. You are sleeping with his girlfriend.” He smiled.
I hated to admit it, but this guy was almost as good and as sarcastic as I was on the job. I said to him, “Answer my question. If I knew or believed that Bill Stanley was a CIA agent, why would I use his name? I’ll answer for you, Colonel. I didn’t know, and I still don’t know. And why should I believe you that he is a CIA agent?”
He nodded. “Why, indeed?” He looked at Susan and asked her, “Do you know that the man you were sleeping with was a CIA agent?”
She replied, “Why would he tell me?”
“This is a very annoying habit of the Americans to answer a question with a question.”
Susan asked, “Why is it annoying?”
Colonel Mang was losing his patience with Susan, who truly could be irritating. He took a step toward her, and I took a step toward him. We all stopped taking steps and stood motionless, but ready.
Finally, Colonel Mang turned back toward me, lit another cigarette without offering one to the lady, and said to me, “So, you do not know Mr. Stanley.”
“I do not.”
“But you spoke to him in front of the Catholic cathedral in Ho Chi Minh City.”
“Was that Bill Stanley?”
“You know it was, Mr. Brenner. Do not play games with me.”
“I was introduced to Bill Stanley for the first time in front of the cathedral, we spoke for about three minutes, as you know, and we have not seen each other or spoken since.”
“So you say. Why should I believe you? You lied to me about your duties during the war, you met a CIA agent on your second day in Ho Chi Minh City, you show too much interest in the hill people, you are vague about your itinerary, and you told me you were going alone to Nha Trang, but in fact you were not. You went with the girlfriend of a CIA agent. So how many other lies have you told me?”
“Two or three.”
“Yes? What lies have you told me?”
“I think I told you how well run and prosperous Vietnam looks. In fact, it is neither. The people are miserable, and everyone I’ve met in the south hates Hanoi. There are more prostitutes and pimps in Saigon than when I was here, and you’ve treated the former soldiers of the Republic of Vietnam very badly, and I know you’ve desecrated their graves and reduced the survivors to near slavery, and as a former soldier, I find this dishonorable and offensive, and so should you. The Hanoi government has no legitimacy, and is not supported by the will of the people. Now, Colonel, you have the real truth, not what you say or believe is the truth.”
Colonel Mang did not look at me. He looked off into the distance while he hyperventilated. He really had a strange look on his face, and his shoulders were heaving. I didn’t know if he was going to faint, cry, pull his gun, ask me for asylum in America, or what. I was going to suggest the lotus position, but he seemed to be getting himself under control without it.
He took a deep breath and snapped out of his trance, or whatever. He cleared his throat and continued, as though he hadn’t been on the verge of a psychotic episode. He asked me, in a matter-of-fact tone, “Mr. Brenner, the Immigration Police in Hue inform me that you took a bus from Nha Trang to Hue. Is that correct?”
Another question I didn’t want to hear. I replied, “That’s correct.”
He mulled that over a moment, then said, “And you left Nha Trang in the early afternoon and arrived in Hue that evening, before midnight. Correct?”
“That’s about right.”