Part 53 (1/2)

The Perfume River was flowing fast because of the winter rains, and downriver I could see the three stone pylons where the old bridge once spanned the river. I'd spoken to a marine years ago, who'd been here during the battle, and he said that you could cross the river by walking on the dead bodies floating downstream. This, of course, was a typical marine exaggeration, but all war stories have a seed of truth before they grow into gigantic bulls.h.i.+t trees. I've never actually known a war story to get smaller with a retelling.

Two co-deps in pink ao dais walked along the river, and their long, straight hair, parted in the middle, reminded me of Susan. I stood, called out to them, and indicated my camera.

They stopped, giggled, and posed. I took a picture and said, ”Chuc Mung Nam Moi.”

They returned the greeting and walked past me, still giggling and glancing over their shoulders.

This gave me a little lift.

Most people, I think, lead normal lives; I have not. In this whole world, at this moment, there couldn't be more than a few dozen men and women, if even that, doing what I was doing now. Most secret rendezvous were of the s.e.xual kind, and there were millions of them happening right now, and there would be millions more tomorrow, and the next day. And a few of those lovers would wind up dead, but most would wind up in each other's arms.

Paul Brenner, on the other hand, was going to wind up either arrested, or in possession of a piece of information that could get him arrested, or killed, or, best scenario, might get him a few more bucks in retirement pay, and the lady of his dreams back in the States.

This had all seemed like a good idea back in Was.h.i.+ngton-well, not a good idea, but at least an idea that might do me some good, and it had.

I stared at the river, and the New City on the opposite sh.o.r.e. I watched a thousand people stroll by. Having missed the first rendezvous was sort of a reprieve, and I had a lot of legitimate reasons to abort the mission, Colonel Mang being not the least of those reasons. Time to go back to the hotel and clear out of this country.

I sat there.

At 1:30 P.M. P.M., I stood, re-entered the Citadel through the outer wall and into the Imperial Enclosure, then through the final wall into the Forbidden Purple City. It hit me then that the symbolism of the name had not been lost on the dramatically inclined dolts in Was.h.i.+ngton, and I knew that this was where I'd meet my contact and possibly my fate.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.

I entered the walled enclosure of the Forbidden Purple City, and walked through the vegetable plots and flower gardens toward the Royal Library, which, as I noticed before, was the only surviving structure within the inner walls. entered the walled enclosure of the Forbidden Purple City, and walked through the vegetable plots and flower gardens toward the Royal Library, which, as I noticed before, was the only surviving structure within the inner walls.

A few tourists stood around the building, but most people were wandering through the gardens.

About twenty meters from the library, a Vietnamese man was squatting beside a garden, examining the flowers. He stood up and stepped on the path in front of me. He said in near perfect English, ”Excuse me, sir. Are you in need of a guide?”

Before I could answer, he went on, ”I am an instructor at Hue University, and I can show you the most important sites of the old walled city.” He added, ”I am a very good guide.”

The man who was standing before me was in his mid-thirties, dressed in the standard black slacks, white s.h.i.+rt, and sandals. He wore a cheap plastic watch, like everyone here, and his face was unremarkable. I could have pa.s.sed him a dozen times and not picked him out of a crowd. I said to him, ”How much do you charge?”

He replied with the countersign, ”Whatever you wish to pay.”

I didn't respond.

He said, ”I see you have a guidebook. May I look at it?”

I handed him the book, and he opened it. He said, ”Yes, you are right here, within the Forbidden Purple City. You see?”

Without looking at the book, I replied, ”I know where I am.”

”Good. This is an excellent place to begin our journey. My name is Truong Qui Anh. Please call me Mr. Anh. And how shall I address you?”

”Paul would be fine.”

”Mr. Paul. We Vietnamese are obsessed with forms of address.” He squatted again and said, ”Look at this mimosa plant. You see, when I touch the leaves, they are touch-sensitive and they curl.”

My luck, I get a talker. While Mr. Anh was annoying the mimosa, I glanced around to see if anyone was watching.

Mr. Anh straightened up and flipped a few pages of my guidebook. ”Is there anything specific you'd like to see?”

”No.”

”Then I will pick a few places. Are you interested in the emperors? The French colonial period? Perhaps the last war. Were you a soldier here?”

”I was.”

”Ah. Then you may be interested in the battle of Hue.”

I was starting to think this guy was really a guide, then, as he looked in my guidebook, he asked, ”Mr. Paul, are you quite sure you weren't followed here?”

”I'm quite sure. How about you, Mr. Anh?”

”I'm sure I'm alone.”

I said to him, ”Why did you miss the first rendezvous?”

He replied, ”Just to be on the safe side.”

I didn't like that reply and asked him, ”Did you think you were under surveillance?”

He hesitated, then replied, ”No... to be honest with you, I lost my nerve.”

I nodded. ”You got it back?”

He smiled in embarra.s.sment. ”Yes.” He added, ”I'm here.”

I wasn't going to tell him that I almost wasn't here for Rendezvous Two myself.

I asked him, ”Are you really a university instructor?”

”I am. I would be lying to you if I said I haven't come to the attention of the authorities. I am a Viet-Kieu. Do you know what that means?”

”I do.”

”Good. But other than that, the authorities have no reason to watch me.”

”You've never done anything like this before?”

”Well, once, about a year ago. I like to help when I can. I've been back four years, and now and then I'm asked to do a small favor. Come, let's take a walk.”

We walked together on the paths, and Mr. Anh said, ”The Communists take all the credit for the rebuilding here, but the fact is, they let this entire imperial compound fall from ruin to decay because it was a.s.sociated with the emperors. The Communists are suspicious of history, and whatever came before them. But Western organizations have put pressure on them to restore much of what was lost in the war. The West provides the money, of course, and the Communists reap the rewards of tourism.”

We were in the outer sanctum now, near the Emperor's Palace, and Mr. Anh led me to a flower garden formed by the ruined foundation of a building. He said, ”My father was a soldier with the army of South Vietnam. A captain. He was killed right here, where this garden is, and where an imperial building once stood. He was found after the battle in the rubble here along with fifteen other officers and men, their hands tied behind their backs, and bullet holes in their heads. Apparently, they were all executed by the Communists.”