Up Country Part 31

"Tell him I thank him for getting me out of Saigon. That will make him happy."

She didn't respond to that and said, "Did Colonel Mang give you any sort of note, or anything in writing?"

I showed her my note from Colonel Mang and asked, "What's it say?"

She looked at it and gave it back to me. "It says, 'Register the address of Paul Brenner, American, and his arrival and departure, and means of transportation to and from your location.' "

I nodded. What the note didn't say was, "Report this to the Security Police," but that was understood.

Susan said, "It used to be common for Westerners to register with the Immigration Police. You used to need a travel permit in addition to your pa.s.sport and visa. Travel has become less restrictive in the last few years."

"Not for me."

"Apparently not. Let me make a few calls." She added, "Maybe someone can get a fix on Colonel Nguyen Qui Mang."

She walked off toward the door where the signal would be better and made a few calls. I hate to leave other people holding the bag for me, and I never do that in my private life, but when I'm on an a.s.signment, Rule Number One is the mission comes first, and Paul Brenner comes second, and everyone else is last. That didn't include Susan, of course, and probably shouldn't have included Bill Stanley. It was no big deal, anyway, though I noticed that Susan seemed a little concerned or maybe annoyed.

Susan returned from her cell phone calls and said, "It's all straightened out."

"And Bill was pleased that I gave his name to Colonel Mang?"

She said, "You could have used my name."

"No, I couldn't have. I don't want Colonel Mang questioning you and finding inconsistencies in my conversation with him."

"I thought you were being chivalrous."

"Spell that."

I noticed a kid of about twelve coming through the door. Susan walked over to him and said something. He gave her an envelope, she gave him a tip, then said something to my friend Lan, and motioned me toward the door.

Things started to move fast now, and Susan and I were out on the sidewalk. She said, "That's my taxi, and your bags are in the trunk. Let's move."

We got into the taxi, and Susan spoke to the driver, and off we went.

I said to her, "You don't have to come to the station-"

"It will go much faster if I'm with you, unless you've learned to read and speak Vietnamese in the last few hours."

"Okay. Thanks. I'll take the ticket."

"I'll hold it. I need to show it at the station. You don't actually have a seat, but I got you a car number. It's a second-cla.s.s coach and will be filled with Viets, any one of whom will give up his seat for five bucks, and stand. You can't do that in First Cla.s.s because they're mostly Westerners, and they'll tell you to f.u.c.k off. Okay?"

I said to Susan, "When you get back to your office, I need you to fax or e-mail my firm and tell them I'm off to Nha Trang. Tell them Colonel Mang wants me to report to the Immigration Police there, but I don't believe the mission is compromised, though I may be under surveillance. Okay?"

She stayed quiet a moment, then said, "I thought they'd be on pins and needles waiting to hear the outcome of your meeting, so I called the consulate when I made those other calls. I kept it short, in case the call was monitored. I got hold of the guy there who knows about this. I think he's the resident CIA guy. I just said, 'He's free to travel. Wire his firm.' Okay?"

I thought about this and said, "Okay. But you e-mail or fax them with a full report when you get to the office."

"Will do."

The train station was north of the center, and within fifteen minutes we pulled up near the entrance amid dozens of taxis, buses, and swarms of people.

Susan gave the driver a five, and we got out as he popped the trunk. I pulled my bags out of the trunk and noticed a big yellow backpack in the trunk. Susan pulled it out and slammed the trunk closed, then put on the backpack. She said, "Okay, let's move."

"Uh... hold on."

"Come on, Paul. We'll miss the train."

We? I followed her into the station, pulling my suitcase through the big central terminal. Susan looked at the display board and said, "Track 5. That's this way. Let's move." I followed her into the station, pulling my suitcase through the big central terminal. Susan looked at the display board and said, "Track 5. That's this way. Let's move."

We hurried across the open area crowded with travelers, and I said, "We can say good-bye here."

She replied, "I hate good-byes."

"Susan-"

"I feel responsible for getting you to Nha Trang. Then you're on your own. Okay?"

I didn't reply.

We got to the track, and Susan showed the woman at the gate two tickets. They exchanged some words, Susan gave her a dollar, and the woman waved us through.

We hurried along the platform, and Susan said, "Car 9. That's at the far end, of course."

My watch said 10:12, and the conductor was calling all aboard in Vietnamese, which could have been funny if I was in a better mood.

We got to Car 9, and I hefted my suitcase on board, then jumped on and pulled Susan up after me. We stood there in the end vestibule compartment, and I was huffing, puffing, and sweating.

The conductor gave the last all-aboard, the doors closed, and the train started to move. We stood there and looked at each other as the train began gaining speed, moving away from the station.

I asked, "How much do I owe you for the ticket?"

She smiled. "We'll settle later."

I said, "I really didn't see this coming."

"Of course, you did. You're a spy. You saw that I wasn't dressed for the office. I held the tickets. I already called the consulate. I stopped mentioning that I wanted to go with you. I came to the station. I held a taxi with your luggage in the trunk-along with mine. So what was your first clue?"

"All of the above, I guess."

"So, stop acting surprised."

"Right."

"Do you want me along?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'll only stay in Nha Trang a few days, then I'm going back to Saigon."

"Did you get a hotel?"

"No, we'll find that hotel you stayed at on your R&R-if it's still standing."

I looked through the window of the vestibule door and saw that the coach was packed with people, luggage, crates, and just about everything except farm animals. I said, "We may be better off standing."

She said, "It's five or six hours to Nha Trang. We'll buy two seats."

The train was pa.s.sing through the northern outskirts of Saigon, and I saw a jet fighter, a Russian-made MiG, coming in to land at what must have been Bien Hoa Airbase, my former home away from home.

A conductor came into the small vestibule, and Susan and he spoke. She counted out twelve singles, and he left. She said to me, "He'll do the deal. He keeps the change."

The tracks swung east now, toward the coast, and the Saigon sprawl rolled on with the train. I could see houses that were little more than shacks, and I remembered these from 1972, when almost a million refugees from the countryside had crowded into the relative safety of Saigon.

Susan said to me, "I really love the beach. Do you have a bathing suit?"

"Yes. Bathing suits in your luggage look touristy to government snoops going through your things."

"You spies are really clever."

"I'm not a spy."

"That's right." She smiled. "I packed light, as you can see. Just a few days. I brought my swimsuit. The beach is supposed to be magnificent."

"Is the beach topless?"

She smiled. "Always thinking. No, you can't do that here. They go nuts. But at Vung Tau there are secluded spots where the French go to swim and sunbathe in the nude. But if you get caught by the local fuzz, you've got a problem."

"Did you ever get caught?"

"I never went topless or nude. I'd love to, but I'm a resident, so I can't claim ignorance." She asked, "So you had an R&R in Nha Trang?"

"Yes. May 1968. The weather was good."

"I thought you went someplace out of the country for R&R."

"There were three-day in-country R&Rs available to people who did something to deserve it."

"I see. And what did you do to deserve an in-country R&R?"

"I invented a new recipe for chili."

She didn't reply for a few seconds, then said, "I hope in the next few days you'll feel comfortable enough to tell me about your experiences here."

I replied, "And maybe you'll tell me why you're here and why you stay."

She didn't reply.

The train moved on, east across the Saigon River, through a landscape of rice paddies and villages.

I looked at Susan and saw that she was looking at me. We both smiled. She said, "What would you have done without me?"

I replied, "I don't know, but I'll find out after you go back to Saigon."

She said, "After three days with me, you'll be good to go."

"After three days with you, I'll need a three-day R&R."

She smiled. "You keep up pretty good for an old guy. Do you swim?"

"Like a fish."

"Hike?"

"Like a mountain goat."

"Dance?"

"Like John Travolta."

"Snore?"

I smiled.

She said, "Sorry. Just teasing."

The train moved on, away from old Saigon, away from the new Ho Chi Minh City, north toward Nha Trang, and back to May 1968.

BOOK III.

Nha Trang

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

The conductor led us through the crowded coach to seats vacated by two young Viet guys. I threw my suitcase on the overhead luggage rack, then sat with my overnight bag stuffed under my seat. Susan sat beside me on the aisle and squeezed her backpack under her legs.

The seat was wood, and it had enough legroom for an amputee. The width was okay for the two of us, but almost all the other seats had three people sitting in them, plus babies and kids riding laps.