“God help Vietnam.”
Mr. Anh smiled and added, “You could die of boredom in Japan, or Singapore, or Korea. Here, you won’t die of boredom.”
“That’s for sure.” I finished my Coke and looked at my watch.
Mr. Anh noticed and said to me, “The name of the village you seek is not Tam Ki, it is Ban Hin, in the province of Lai Chau.” He spelled it out for me and added, “It’s a difficult journey. The only air service is twice weekly from Hanoi, and you are not to go via Hanoi, according to what I have been told. In any case, the seats on the aircraft are usually booked weeks in advance. So you need to go by land. Unfortunately, there is no bus service from here, only from Hanoi. The roads, especially now with the rains, are treacherous, and you know by now that you are not allowed to rent a car yourself. You need a car and driver.”
“Maybe I’ll stay home.”
“That is your decision. But if it were me going, I would take a four-wheel drive and a good driver. The road distance from Hue to Dien Bien Phu is between nine hundred and a thousand kilometers, depending on your route.” He added, “Fortunately, the first five hundred kilometers will be on Highway One toward Hanoi. At some point south of Hanoi, you must choose a road to take you to Route 6, which will then take you northwest through the mountains to Dien Bien Phu.”
He found a map of northern Vietnam in the guidebook and pushed the book toward me. “Do you see Dien Bien Phu?”
I looked at the map and found it in the far northwestern part of the country, near Laos. I could also see Route 6, coming out of Hanoi and winding through the mountains to Dien Bien Phu. I asked, “How’s Route 6?”
“Not a good road at this time of year, or any time for that matter. The roads that lead you to Route 6 are worse.”
“Worse than New Jersey?”
He smiled and continued, “You will see on the map two or three roads leading from Highway One to Route 6 before you get to Hanoi. You must pick one, depending on weather conditions, the condition of the road, and perhaps other factors that only you can decide upon when the time comes for you to leave Highway One.” He looked at me.
I said, “I understand. Tell me what I should tell my driver about why I don’t want to go through Hanoi to get to Highway 6 to Dien Bien Phu?”
“Tell him you enjoy treacherous mountain roads in the rain.”
Not funny.
Mr. Anh said, “With luck, you can be in Dien Bien Phu in two days.”
I thought about this, and wondered what those idiots in Washington were thinking. I said, “Is it possible to hire a small plane from Hue”Phu Bai?”
“Not in this country, Mr. Brenner. Private flights are strictly forbidden.”
“How did the French get to Dien Bien Phu?”
He smiled. “They parachuted in.” He said, “There is an alternative route. You could fly from here to Vientiane, the capital of Laos, then fly to Luang Prabang in Laos, and you will be only about a hundred fifty kilometers from Dien Bien Phu. But you’ll first need a visa for Laos, and then you would have to cross the border back into Vietnam by road, and that could present a difficulty.”
“Well, thank you for the geography lesson, Professor. I’m sure I can get to Dien Bien Phu before my visa expires.”
He reiterated, “Hire a very good private driver with a good four-wheel drive. You should make it.” He added, “Do not go through Vidotour.”
“I know that.”
Mr. Anh played with his pile of broken peanut shells and said to me, “I have been told to pass on some instructions.”
I didn’t reply.
Mr. Anh said, “If you find this person you are looking for, you are to offer to buy all his war souvenirs. If he is dead, document his death, and make the same offer to his family. If he is alive, you are to photograph him, and establish his residence with maps and photographs. This person may be contacted at a later date for whatever purpose your government needs him for.”
Again, I didn’t reply.
Mr. Anh seemed a bit uncomfortable about something, and he was avoiding my eyes when he said, “Or you may wish to finalize the matter yourself, thereby saving the trouble of a further visit to this individual.”
I said to Mr. Anh, “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
He did, and I said to him, “I’m not quite sure I understand what that means. Do you?”
“No, I don’t, Mr. Brenner. They said you would understand.”
“Did they? What if I misunderstood and thought they meant I should kill him, when they meant something else?”
Mr. Anh did not reply to that directly but said, “After a long, bitter war, there are many grudges left to be settled.”
I didn’t think this had anything to do with an old grudge, or a payback for something that happened in the secret world of espionage or the Phoenix assassination program, or anything like that. Tran Van Vinh was a simple soldier who’d seen something he wasn’t supposed to see. But Mr. Anh assumed that it had to do with the dirty, back-alley war, which was a logical assumption; or that’s what he’d been told.
Mr. Anh concluded with, “In any case, your mission is then complete, and you are to go directly to your next destination with the items you have acquired. This message is verbatim, and I know nothing further.”
I didn’t reply.
Mr. Anh said, “You are to stay here tonight and tomorrow night, as you know, then make your way to Dien Bien Phu, and the village in question. I am to contact you at your hotel if there is a change in plans, or if I have any further information for you. I have a secure means of informing someone in Saigon that this meeting was successful, and you have the opportunity now to give me a message that I will pass on.”
I replied, “Just tell them that I understand my mission, and my duty, and that justice will be done.”
“Very well. Should I leave, or do you wish to go first?”
“I’ll go.” I took some peanuts and put them in my pocket. I said to Mr. Anh, “I’m leaving this guidebook with you. What I want you to do is to return it to my hotel on the morning I’m to depart for Dien Bien Phu, which is the same morning you are departing for Los Angeles. In that way, I’ll know you haven’t been arrested, and that my mission is not compromised. If I don’t receive the book, I reserve the right to leave the country. You can pass that on.”
He said, “I understand.”
I stood and took ten dollars out of my pocket and put it on the table. “Thank you for an interesting tour.”
He stood, and we shook hands. He said to me, “Have a safe journey, sir. Happy New Year.”
“Same to you.”
I left and made my way through the market, out onto the river walk, and I headed toward the bridge to the new city.
It was not yet four o’clock on New Year’s Day, the first day of the Year of the Ox. It might also be the last day of the year for the jackass, meaning me. How do I get myself involved in things like this? For a take-charge kind of guy, I keep falling into vats of shit: career-limiting homicide cases, dangerous assignments to hostile countries, and complicated love affairs.
I got onto the pedestrian walk of the Trang Tien Bridge, and I stopped halfway. I cracked open some peanuts and dropped the shells into the river. I popped a few peanuts in my mouth and chewed.
The sky was a layer of clouds and a few raindrops fell. The air was damp and cool, and the Perfume River ran swiftly to the sea.
Well, I thought, I hadn’t misunderstood Mr. Conway at Dulles, or Mr. Anh in Hue. Washington wanted Tran Van Vinh dead, and they’d be happy if I killed him. And they didn’t even bother to give me a reason, beyond national security, which could mean anything and usually did.