officer.”
Conway took a piece of paper out of the plastic bag and said to me, “This is your visa, which we secured from the Vietnamese embassy with an authorized copy of your passport that the State Department was kind enough to provide.” He handed me a sheet of cheap paper printed with red ink, and I glanced at it.
“And here is a new passport, an exact copy of yours, which you’ll give me now. On this passport is the Vietnamese embassy stamp for your entry into the country, and the other pages are clean because the Vietnamese get suspicious of people who have too many entry and exit stamps on their passports, as you do.”
He handed me my new passport, and I gave Conway my old one. I looked at the one he’d given me. I noticed that even the photo was the same as my old one, plus, an expert FBI forger had been nice enough to sign it for me. I commented, “It’s amazing that you were able to get a copy of my passport made, use it to apply to the Vietnamese embassy for a visa, and have everything ready for me less than twelve hours after I knew about this assignment.”
“It is amazing,” agreed Mr. Conway. He handed me a pencil and said, “Fill out the emergency contact information the way it was on your old passport—your lawyer, I believe.”
“Right.” Actually a CID lawyer, but why bring that up? I filled out the information, handed him back his pencil, and put the passport in my breast pocket.
Mr. Conway said, “Make a few photocopies of your passport and visa when you get to Seoul. In ’Nam, everyone wants to hold your passport and visa—hotels, motor scooter rentals, and sometimes the police. You can usually satisfy them with a photocopy.”
“Why don’t we send a photocopy of me to Vietnam?”
He ignored that and continued, “You’ll arrange your own ground transportation in Vietnam. You’ll stay in Saigon three days, and that’s how long you’re booked at the Rex—Friday night, which is your arrival night, Saturday, and Sunday. You’ll leave Saigon Monday. Do whatever you please
in Saigon, except don’t get kicked out for smoking funny cigarettes, or bringing a prostitute up to your room, or anything like that.”
“I don’t need a morals lecture from the FBI.”
“I understand, but I have to brief you, as per my instructions from my people. I was already briefed by Karl, and I know you’re a pro. Okay? Next, you will be contacted in Saigon by an American resident of Saigon. This person will have no U.S. government connections—just a businessperson who’s doing a little favor for Uncle Sam. The meeting will take place at the rooftop restaurant of the Rex, at or about 7 P.M. on Saturday, your second night there. That’s all you have to know. The more unplanned it is, the more unplanned it will look. Okay?”
“So far.”
“This person will give you a number. That number will correspond to a map key in your guidebook.” Mr. Conway reached into the plastic bag and put a book on the table. “This is the Lonely Planet Guide to Vietnam, third edition. It’s the most widely used book over there, so if for some reason it gets taken by the customs idiots at Tan Son Nhat Airport, or you lose it, or somebody lifts it, you can usually get another one by buying it from a backpacker, or your Saigon contact can get one for you. You’re going to need this book a few times. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll explain this number further in a few minutes. After you leave Saigon on Monday, you have until Saturday to look and act like a tourist. Do what you want, but you should visit some of your old battlefields.” He added, “I believe you served part of your tour in the Bong Son area.”
I said, “If that’s not part of this mission, I’ll skip that.”
He looked at me a long time and said, “Well, that’s not an order, but it is a strong suggestion.”
I didn’t reply.
Mr. Conway leaned toward me and said, “FYI, I was there in ’70—Fourth Infantry Division, Central
Conway took a piece of paper out of the plastic bag and said to me, “This is your visa, which we secured from the Vietnamese embassy with an authorized copy of your passport that the State Department was kind enough to provide.” He handed me a sheet of cheap paper printed with red ink, and I glanced at it.
“And here is a new passport, an exact copy of yours, which you’ll give me now. On this passport is the Vietnamese embassy stamp for your entry into the country, and the other pages are clean because the Vietnamese get suspicious of people who have too many entry and exit stamps on their passports, as you do.”
He handed me my new passport, and I gave Conway my old one. I looked at the one he’d given me. I noticed that even the photo was the same as my old one, plus, an expert FBI forger had been nice enough to sign it for me. I commented, “It’s amazing that you were able to get a copy of my passport made, use it to apply to the Vietnamese embassy for a visa, and have everything ready for me less than twelve hours after I knew about this assignment.”
“It is amazing,” agreed Mr. Conway. He handed me a pencil and said, “Fill out the emergency contact information the way it was on your old passport—your lawyer, I believe.”
“Right.” Actually a CID lawyer, but why bring that up? I filled out the information, handed him back his pencil, and put the passport in my breast pocket.
Mr. Conway said, “Make a few photocopies of your passport and visa when you get to Seoul. In ’Nam, everyone wants to hold your passport and visa—hotels, motor scooter rentals, and sometimes the police. You can usually satisfy them with a photocopy.”
“Why don’t we send a photocopy of me to Vietnam?”
He ignored that and continued, “You’ll arrange your own ground transportation in Vietnam. You’ll stay in Saigon three days, and that’s how long you’re booked at the Rex—Friday night, which is your arrival night, Saturday, and Sunday. You’ll leave Saigon Monday. Do whatever you please
in Saigon, except don’t get kicked out for smoking funny cigarettes, or bringing a prostitute up to your room, or anything like that.”
“I don’t need a morals lecture from the FBI.”
“I understand, but I have to brief you, as per my instructions from my people. I was already briefed by Karl, and I know you’re a pro. Okay? Next, you will be contacted in Saigon by an American resident of Saigon. This person will have no U.S. government connections—just a businessperson who’s doing a little favor for Uncle Sam. The meeting will take place at the rooftop restaurant of the Rex, at or about 7 P.M. on Saturday, your second night there. That’s all you have to know. The more unplanned it is, the more unplanned it will look. Okay?”
“So far.”
“This person will give you a number. That number will correspond to a map key in your guidebook.” Mr. Conway reached into the plastic bag and put a book on the table. “This is the Lonely Planet Guide to Vietnam, third edition. It’s the most widely used book over there, so if for some reason it gets taken by the customs idiots at Tan Son Nhat Airport, or you lose it, or somebody lifts it, you can usually get another one by buying it from a backpacker, or your Saigon contact can get one for you. You’re going to need this book a few times. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll explain this number further in a few minutes. After you leave Saigon on Monday, you have until Saturday to look and act like a tourist. Do what you want, but you should visit some of your old battlefields.” He added, “I believe you served part of your tour in the Bong Son area.”
I said, “If that’s not part of this mission, I’ll skip that.”
He looked at me a long time and said, “Well, that’s not an order, but it is a strong suggestion.”
I didn’t reply.
Mr. Conway leaned toward me and said, “FYI, I was there in ’70—Fourth Infantry Division, Central
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