Just as I reached the door, she appeared suddenly, and I almost bumped into her. I said, by way of greeting, “Where the hell have you been?”
“It’s good to see you, too.”
“I was worried about you.”
“Sorry. I had to freshen up.”
In fact, she was wearing one of the silk blouses she’d bought in Nha Trang, black pants, and sandals. She’d obviously showered and put on makeup.
“I rushed down here to meet you, and you’re up in your room taking a bubble bath or something.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
I turned and walked to the cocktail table. I sat and drank my beer.
Susan sat opposite me and said, “Is this my beer?”
“Obviously.”
She poured herself some beer, took a few peanuts, and threw one at me. Hit me in the forehead.
She sat back, sipped her beer, and lit up.
She wasn’t saying anything, and she wouldn’t until I calmed down. I know women.
I said, “I could have gotten a massage if I’d known you were going to take your sweet time.”
She threw another peanut at me.
“We were supposed to meet here, right after — forget it. Where’s the heat?”
“Safe.”
“Safe where?”
“Under my bed.”
“Are you crazy?”
“No. And I’m not stupid either. I went out to the flower garden and buried it in a plastic bag.”
I calmed down a bit and asked, sarcastically, “Do you remember where you buried it?”
“Orange birds-of-paradise. I buried it while I sniffed the flowers.”
“Okay. And no one saw you?”
“I hope not.”
“And you wiped the prints clean?”
“Only mine. I left yours on the gun.”
I ordered another beer. I saw the three Americans glancing at Susan — leering, actually, and making comments. Men are pigs.
She asked me, “Any messages?”
“Yes. From K. He wants me to dump you.”
“Well, what difference does it make now?”
“None. Subject closed. Did you get a message?”
“No one knows what hotel I’m at.”
“I’ll bet they could figure it out real quick.”
She smiled. “Uh… duh…? Hey, did you know this is the Year of the Ox?”
“I thought it was the Year of the Toronto Blue Jays.”
“I mean the astrological year. Stop jerking me around.”
“Sorry. Year of the Ox.”
“Right. It’s forecast to be a propitious year.”
“What does that mean?”
“Lucky. Good fortune.”
“You mean for everybody?”
“I don’t know. Sorry I mentioned it. You’re a pain in the ass.”
She got sulky, which gave me a minute to reflect on a few things. Married to another American. Karl was teamed up with the FBI for this case, so he must mean that Susan was with the CIA or State Department Intelligence. SDI people fainted at the sight of a gun, so that kind of narrowed it down to CIA. Of course, there could be another player out there, like Military Intelligence. In any case, this wasn’t quite like sleeping with the enemy, but more like sleeping with a business competitor. Either that, or Karl was messing with my head, and that wouldn’t be the first time. Karl could also be wrong, and that, too, wouldn’t be the first time.
Susan interrupted my thoughts and said, “I’ve made a reservation here for an early dinner. They have this huge Tet meal laid on. Then we’ll walk around the Old City and see the celebration — dragon dances, puppet shows, music, and all that. Then we’ll go to the cathedral for midnight mass.”
She had to be CIA — who else would be so arrogant as to plan my evening for me?
She said, “Are you listening to me?”
“Yeah… Look, let’s have the early dinner and turn in—”
“Paul, it’s New Year’s Eve.”
“No, it’s not. That was a month ago.”
“It’s New Year’s Eve here.”
“I don’t believe it. You only lose or gain a day when you cross the International Dateline. Not a month.”
“I think we should go to your room, and you shower, since you obviously have not, then we’ll get very comfortable in bed, then dress for dinner.”
I couldn’t find anything wrong with that, so I stood and said, “Okay. Let’s go.”
“Can I finish my beer?”
“I have a mini-bar in the room. Let’s go.”
“Are you hot?”
“Yes, let’s go.”
She stood, we walked out to the lobby, took the elevator up to the fifth floor, and I led her to my suite.
She said, “Oh, this is very nice. They gave me a small room on the first floor overlooking the street.” She added, “Room 106.”
She walked to the glass doors and went out to the long terrace. I followed.
The Perfume River was spanned by two bridges that connected the Old and New City, and alongside the closest bridge were the ruined remains of another bridge that had been destroyed, probably in ’68.
Across the river sat the walled city of Hue, known as the Citadel, the capital of the emperors. From this height, we could see over the Citadel walls and into the city, and what struck me was that about half the central part of the city seemed to be missing, replaced by open fields in which lay the outlines of what had once been buildings.
Susan said, “You see those walls within the Citadel walls? That’s the Imperial Enclosure, and within those walls are the walls of the Forbidden Purple City, where only the Emperor, his concubines, and the eunuchs were allowed.”
“So I’m not allowed in there, but you are.”
“Very funny.” She went on, “Most of the ancient buildings were destroyed in 1968.”
“I see that.” Somewhere down there, at noon tomorrow or later, I was to meet my contact. I hoped it wasn’t a woman.
Susan said, “My guide told us that the Americans bombed the city mercilessly for thirty days and destroyed most of the antiquities.”
I didn’t feel like defending the American use of overwhelming firepower, but I said, “The North Vietnamese army captured the city by surprise on Tet Eve, during the Tet truce. It took thirty days of bombing, shelling, and ground action to get them out. It’s called war.”
She nodded and said, “But… it’s such a shame.”
“The Communists went around with names and addresses of people they wanted liquidated. They shot over three thousand soldiers and civilians who were on their lists. Did your guide tell you that?”
“No.”
I looked off to the northwest and said, “My infantry company was dug into those foothills way out there on the horizon. We could see the battles raging in Quang Tri and Hue. We moved down from the hills and tried to block the escape of the Communist troops after they’d given up Quang Tri. Then we moved farther south toward Hue, and set up a blocking force to intercept the stragglers coming out of Hue so they couldn’t disappear into the hills.”
She looked out at the countryside to the north and west, and said, “So you were right out there?”
“Yes.”
“And the battle was going on right here in the city?”
“Yes. On this side of the river, right where we are now, the marines were dug in and controlled this riverbank and the New City.” I said, “Quang Tri is about sixty kilometers due north of here, right up Highway One, which you can see over there.”
“You should go to Quang Tri.”
“I think I will. I’ve come this far.”
“I’d like to go with you, if you want the company.”
I nodded. “This stretch of Highway One from Hue to Quang Tri was called by the French soldiers the Street Without Joy. The name stuck, and that’s what we called it, although some guys called it Ambush Alley, or Fucked Up Road One.”