you to
know that it was my decision to take this assignment, and it had nothing to do with you;
it has to do with me.
As for us, this has been what’s
called a stormy relationship from day one in Brussels. In fact, fate, jobs, and life have
conspired to keep us apart and keep us from really knowing each other.
Here’s a plan to get us together, to meet each other
halfway, literally and figuratively: During the war, the single guys would take their
one-week R&R in exotic places where they could loosen up a little. The married guys,
and the guys in serious relationships, would meet their ladies in Honolulu. So, meet me
in Honolulu twenty-one days from today, the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, reservations under both
our names. Plan on a two-week R&R in one of the remote islands.
If you decide not to come, I understand, and I know
you’ve made your decision. Please don’t reply to this, just come or
don’t come.
Love, Paul
Well, that wasn’t too embarrassingly sloppy and sentimental, and I didn’t regret sending it. Everything was spelled right, rare for an e-mail.
As of this morning, as I said, there was no reply, which could mean she hadn’t opened her e-mail, or she took me at my word when I said, Please don’t reply to this , as Peggy Walsh had taken me at my word when I told her not to come to the airport.
The door opened, and a well-dressed man about my age entered, carrying two cups of coffee and a plastic gift store bag. He put the bag and the coffees on the table, then put out his hand and said, “Hi, I’m Doug Conway. Sorry I’m late.”
“I’m sorry you’re here at all.”
Doug Conway smiled and sat opposite me. “Here, this coffee’s for you. Black, correct?”
“Thanks. You want peanuts?”
“I’ve had breakfast. First, I’ve been instructed to thank you for taking this assignment.”
“Who’s thanking me?”
“Everybody. Don’t worry about that.”
I sipped the coffee and studied Mr. Conway. He looked pretty bright and sounded pretty sharp so far. He was wearing a dark blue suit, subdued blue tie, and looked sort of honest, so he wasn’t CIA. Also, I can spot CID a mile away, and he wasn’t that either, so I asked, “FBI?”
“Yes. This case, if it has any resolution, will be a domestic matter. No CIA involved, no military intelligence, no State Department intelligence. Just FBI and army CID. It sounds like a murder, so we’ll handle it like a murder.”
Well, he did look honest, but he wasn’t. I asked him, “Will anyone in the Hanoi embassy know of my presence there?”
“We’ve decided to limit this information.”
“To whom?”
“To those who need to know, which is practically nobody. The embassy and consulate people are about as useful as tits on a bull. I didn’t say that. But fortunately, we’ve got an FBI guy in the Hanoi embassy, who’s on assignment to give classes to the Vietnamese police on the drug trade. His name is John Eagan, and he’s been briefed on your trip. He’s your guy if you’re in trouble and need to contact the U.S. embassy.”
“Why doesn’t John Eagan go find this guy I’m supposed to find?”
“He’s busy giving classes. Also, he has less ability to travel around than does a tourist.”
“Also, you don’t want any direct U.S. government involvement in this case. Correct?”
Mr. Conway, of course, did not reply. He said instead, “Do you have any threshold questions to ask before I begin my briefing?”
“I thought I just asked one.”
“All right, then I’ll begin. First, your mission is clear, but not simple. You have to locate a Vietnamese national named Tran Van Vinh—you know that. He is an eyewitness in a possible murder case.”
Mr. Conway went on a while, doing the FBI thing, as though this was just another murder that needed to be worked and packaged up for a U.S. attorney general. I sipped my coffee and opened my last bag of peanuts.
I interrupted his legal spiel and said, “All right. So if I
know that it was my decision to take this assignment, and it had nothing to do with you;
it has to do with me.
As for us, this has been what’s
called a stormy relationship from day one in Brussels. In fact, fate, jobs, and life have
conspired to keep us apart and keep us from really knowing each other.
Here’s a plan to get us together, to meet each other
halfway, literally and figuratively: During the war, the single guys would take their
one-week R&R in exotic places where they could loosen up a little. The married guys,
and the guys in serious relationships, would meet their ladies in Honolulu. So, meet me
in Honolulu twenty-one days from today, the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, reservations under both
our names. Plan on a two-week R&R in one of the remote islands.
If you decide not to come, I understand, and I know
you’ve made your decision. Please don’t reply to this, just come or
don’t come.
Love, Paul
Well, that wasn’t too embarrassingly sloppy and sentimental, and I didn’t regret sending it. Everything was spelled right, rare for an e-mail.
As of this morning, as I said, there was no reply, which could mean she hadn’t opened her e-mail, or she took me at my word when I said, Please don’t reply to this , as Peggy Walsh had taken me at my word when I told her not to come to the airport.
The door opened, and a well-dressed man about my age entered, carrying two cups of coffee and a plastic gift store bag. He put the bag and the coffees on the table, then put out his hand and said, “Hi, I’m Doug Conway. Sorry I’m late.”
“I’m sorry you’re here at all.”
Doug Conway smiled and sat opposite me. “Here, this coffee’s for you. Black, correct?”
“Thanks. You want peanuts?”
“I’ve had breakfast. First, I’ve been instructed to thank you for taking this assignment.”
“Who’s thanking me?”
“Everybody. Don’t worry about that.”
I sipped the coffee and studied Mr. Conway. He looked pretty bright and sounded pretty sharp so far. He was wearing a dark blue suit, subdued blue tie, and looked sort of honest, so he wasn’t CIA. Also, I can spot CID a mile away, and he wasn’t that either, so I asked, “FBI?”
“Yes. This case, if it has any resolution, will be a domestic matter. No CIA involved, no military intelligence, no State Department intelligence. Just FBI and army CID. It sounds like a murder, so we’ll handle it like a murder.”
Well, he did look honest, but he wasn’t. I asked him, “Will anyone in the Hanoi embassy know of my presence there?”
“We’ve decided to limit this information.”
“To whom?”
“To those who need to know, which is practically nobody. The embassy and consulate people are about as useful as tits on a bull. I didn’t say that. But fortunately, we’ve got an FBI guy in the Hanoi embassy, who’s on assignment to give classes to the Vietnamese police on the drug trade. His name is John Eagan, and he’s been briefed on your trip. He’s your guy if you’re in trouble and need to contact the U.S. embassy.”
“Why doesn’t John Eagan go find this guy I’m supposed to find?”
“He’s busy giving classes. Also, he has less ability to travel around than does a tourist.”
“Also, you don’t want any direct U.S. government involvement in this case. Correct?”
Mr. Conway, of course, did not reply. He said instead, “Do you have any threshold questions to ask before I begin my briefing?”
“I thought I just asked one.”
“All right, then I’ll begin. First, your mission is clear, but not simple. You have to locate a Vietnamese national named Tran Van Vinh—you know that. He is an eyewitness in a possible murder case.”
Mr. Conway went on a while, doing the FBI thing, as though this was just another murder that needed to be worked and packaged up for a U.S. attorney general. I sipped my coffee and opened my last bag of peanuts.
I interrupted his legal spiel and said, “All right. So if I
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