Free Up Country by Nelson DeMille

to make an absolute confirmation and verification of death. Sergeant Tran Van Vinh, age between fifty and sixty, served in the People’s Army, saw action at Quang Tri, deceased brother named Tran Quan Lee—”
    “Got it.”
    “Okay. On the other hand, he may be alive—in Tam Ki or elsewhere.”
    “Right. This is where I’m a little unclear about my mission and my goal. What am I supposed to do with Mr. Tran Van Vinh if I find him alive?”
    Conway made eye contact with me and said, “What if I told you to kill him?”
    We maintained eye contact. I said, “Tell you what—I’ll find him, you kill him. But you’d better have a good reason.”
    “I think when you talk to him, you might discover the reason.”
    “Then someone whacks me.”
    “Don’t be melodramatic.”
    “Sorry, I thought we were being melodramatic.”
    “No, we’re being realistic. Here’s the mission in clear English—you first determine if this guy is dead or alive. If dead, we’d like some proof; if alive, establish if he lives in Tam Ki or elsewhere, then talk to him about this incident of February 1968 and see what he remembers, and see if he can identify the murderer from a photo pack that we’ll try to get to you. Also, as you will read in the letter, Tran Van Vinh took a few things from the murder victim. We took souvenirs from the dead, they took souvenirs. He probably still has these items, or if he’s dead, his family will have them—dog tags, wallet, whatever. This will identify the murdered lieutenant for us, and it will also connect Tran Van Vinh to the murder scene, and if he’s alive, make him a credible witness.”
    “And we don’t want a live credible witness.”
    Mr. Conway did not answer.
    I finished my coffee and said, “So, if I find Tran Van Vinh alive, I see if he can ID some photos that maybe I’ll get along the way, and see if I can look at his souvenirs, and maybe buy them from him, or his family if he’s dead, and maybe get this guy out of the country, maybe videotape him, and/or leave him where he is, or maybe give Mr. Eagan in the Hanoi embassy this guy’s address and whatever happens to Tran Van Vinh happens. And if he’s dead, you want proof.”
    “That’s about it. We’re playing it by ear. We’ll get in touch with you over there, in Saigon or Hue latest. There’s still some debate here about the best course of action.”
    “Be sure to let me know what you decide.”
    “We will. Any further questions?”
    “No.”
    Mr. Conway asked me, in an official tone, “Mr. Brenner, do you understand everything I’ve told you so far?”
    “Not only that, I understand some stuff you’re not telling me.”
    He ignored that and continued, “And you remember all of these verbal instructions I’ve given you?”
    “I do.”
    “Do you have any further questions for me at this time?”
    “Can I ask you why you want this guy whacked?”
    “I don’t understand the question. Anything else?”
    “Nope.”
    Doug Conway stood, and I also stood.
    Conway said, “Your flight leaves in an hour, you’re traveling Business Class, which isn’t too extravagant for your station in life. The occupation on your visa says ‘Retired,’ the purpose of your visit says ‘Tourism.’ Understand, there’s some chance of a man your age traveling alone getting stopped at Tan Son Nhat and being questioned. I spent half an hour with a paranoid little gent in an interrogation room when I went back. Keep cool, don’t get hostile, stick to your story, and if the war comes up, give him some bullshit about how terrible it was for his country. Express remorse or something. They love that. Okay?”
    “So, I shouldn’t mention that I killed North Vietnamese soldiers.”
    “I wouldn’t. That might get you off on the wrong foot. But be honest about being a Vietnam veteran and wanting to visit some of the places you saw as a young soldier. Tell the interrogator you were a cook or a company clerk or something. Not a combat