"Okay, share them with me."

For some reason, I remembered an old army expression: The enemy diversion you are ignoring is the main attack.

But that was being cynical and paranoid again. I said to Susan, "I do love you. And you know what? Even if you're still deceiving me, and even if you betray me, I'll still love you."

She held me tighter as we danced, and I could tell she was crying. Hopefully, these were tears of joy, and not premature remorse.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE.

At about ten minutes to midnight, the last of the guests were leaving, the band was packing, and the bartenders were corking the Chardonnay.

Susan and I went into the amba.s.sador's residence and made our way through the quiet house toward the sitting room.

There were a few Secret Service guys standing around in the salon. I saw my young friend, Scott Romney, near the staircase, and he tensed up when he saw me. I said to him, "There are milk and cookies in the kitchen."

We entered the sitting room, and Bill Stanley and John Eagan were already there. Also there was a man in an army green dress uniform whose rank was colonel, and whose nametag said Goodman Goodman. This was the Military Intelligence guy, Marc Goodman, and he would not normally have any interest in a homicide investigation. I guess it was Cam Ranh Bay that he was interested in.

He was a tall, lanky man, a few years older than me. I remembered seeing him out on the lawn. He recognized Susan from their meeting in Saigon, and they shook hands, and she introduced me.

The door to the Amba.s.sador's office was closed, and John Eagan said, "The Amba.s.sador is with someone and will be finished shortly."

Colonel Goodman said to me, "I understand you and Ms. Weber had a bit of trouble."

I replied, military style, "Nothing we couldn't handle, sir."

Goodman wore the insignia of an infantry officer and had enough ribbons to make a bed quilt. I saw, too, the Combat Infantryman's Badge, which I also owned, and the Silver Star, Bronze Star, and two Purple Hearts. My instinct said this guy was okay, but my instincts had also said that about Edward Blake.

Neither Bill nor John Eagan felt like making small talk, but Goodman said to me, "So, you were with the First Cav in '68."

"Yes, sir." I called him sir because I was ex-army on an army a.s.signment, and he outranked me. In about two days, if I saw him again, he'd be Marc.

He asked, "Saw action where?"

I told him, and he nodded. We exchanged a few details about our military careers, and he asked me, "Do you miss the CID?"

"Not recently."

"Are you pursuing a career in civilian law enforcement?"

"I've thought about it."

"I'm sure you'll have no trouble landing a job in federal law enforcement after this a.s.signment."

That sounded like a joke, but he wasn't smiling. So, maybe it was an incentive to be cooperative. I didn't reply.

He said to Susan, "Have you been properly thanked for volunteering to be a translator and guide?"

Susan replied, "I was happy to help."

"I'm sure it wasn't easy for you to leave your work."

This conversation had a surreal quality to it, the way all government meetings do, especially if the subject is sensitive; the art of innuendo, double-talk, evasive phrasing, and arcane code words. You could think you were being asked to go out for coffee, when they really meant you should a.s.sa.s.sinate the President of Colombia. You had to pay attention.

Bill struck me as a quiet sort of guy, which might be the only thing I liked about him. Nevertheless, he decided to speak. He said to Susan, "I've indicated to Colonel Goodman, and to the Amba.s.sador, that you may be leaving the country involuntarily."

She said to all a.s.sembled, "I'd like to stay. But as you know, my resident work visa has been taken by the police, and my status here is uncertain."

I clarified this by saying, "We were arrested and may be arrested again."

John Eagan said, "I've spoken to the Amba.s.sador about both of you staying here tonight."

"Good. It's either here or Yet Kieu Street."

Everyone knew that address, and it needed no further explanation. I said to Bill, "Where is your boss?" meaning the resident Hanoi CIA bureau chief-top spook in Vietnam.

He replied, "He's out of town."

Why he would be out of town at the culmination of a very important mission was a little mysterious. It could be that he wasn't on the Blake team and was unreliably honest and couldn't be trusted. But I had another thought, and I looked at John Eagan. I asked him, "How long have you been with the FBI?"

"Not long."

"About two weeks?"

He didn't reply directly, but said to me, "Paul, I know you have some issues with the world of intelligence, and it all probably seems like silly cloak-and-dagger stuff to a cop. But there are lots of good reasons why nothing is as it seems. It works for everyone, yourself included."

"It's not working for me, John."

"It really is, Paul."

There was a coffee bar in the sitting room, and I poured myself a cup. Susan went to the bathroom to smoke.

Bill took the opportunity to ask me to step out into the hallway, which we did. He said, "We can get you out of here in a day or two. Susan will be staying a few days longer."

"Says who?"

"She'll need some time to wrap up her personal and business affairs in Saigon. From here, of course. Then, we'll arrange her safe exit from the country."

"In other words, she's a hostage."

"I'm not following you."

"We're leaving together."

"Not possible."

"Make it possible."

He told me something I already knew. "You're on thin ice. Don't stomp your feet."

I asked Bill, "How worried are you right now?"

He turned and walked back into the sitting room.

I finished my coffee in the hallway and returned just as Susan came out of the bathroom. She'd found a tube of lipstick somewhere and had repainted herself.

One of the double doors to the Amba.s.sador's private office opened, and Patrick Quinn exited without his usual smile. He looked around, found his smile, and said, "Bill, Marc, John, Paul, Susan!"

He was into first names, like he'd aced the Dale Carnegie course. He said, "I know you have some business to attend to, so please make yourselves comfortable in my office."

Everyone mumbled their thanks. I said to Patrick Quinn, "I was to remind you to introduce me to your friend, the Vice President."

He looked at his watch and said, "I'll see if he's available." He said to Colonel Goodman, "Marc, if you need anything, ring the guardhouse or the kitchen." He said to everyone, "Thank you all for joining us tonight." He left.

Whoever he was with in his office was still there, or had exited from the window.

We all moved toward the open door, Susan first, followed by Bill, Marc, and John.

I entered the dimly lit office last, and the first thing I noticed was a man sitting in a leather wing chair in the corner. He bore a striking resemblance to Karl h.e.l.lmann.

He stood and moved toward me with a smile. He put out his hand and said, "h.e.l.lo, Paul."

He even sounded sounded like Karl, right down to the accent. I took his hand and said, "h.e.l.lo, Karl." like Karl, right down to the accent. I took his hand and said, "h.e.l.lo, Karl."

We were so thrilled to see each other, we could barely speak. I finally found my voice and said to him softly, "You're a lying, double-dealing, devious son of a b.i.t.c.h."

He replied, "I'm glad to see you're well. I was worried about you. Please introduce me to Ms. Weber."

"Introduce yourself."

He turned to Susan and said, "I am K. Karl h.e.l.lmann. We've communicated by fax and e-mail."

Susan said, "It's a pleasure to meet you. Paul speaks so highly of you."

"We hold each other in mutually high regard." Karl said to the others, "Thank you for inviting me."

Karl shook hands with Bill, Marc, and John, and from the s.n.a.t.c.hes of conversation, I was able to determine that they'd never met, or pretended they'd never met or communicated, and that they were happy to make one another's acquaintance. Karl said, "My flight arrived only an hour ago, and I haven't checked into my hotel. So please bear with me if I seem somewhat forgetful."

Everyone understood that bulls.h.i.t.

I said to Karl, "Could I have a word with you?"

"Of course."

We moved out into the sitting room, and I closed the door. I said to Karl, "You almost got me killed."

"How could that be? I was in Falls Church. You look tired."

"I've spent two f.u.c.king weeks in this h.e.l.lhole, the last few days on a motorcycle on the run from the cops."

"How was Nha Trang, by the way? Did I tell you I had a three-day R&R there?"

"Why are you here?"

"They asked me to come."

"Why?"

"So you could be fully debriefed here, rather than Bangkok."

"Why?"

"They're very anxious about this."

I pointed out, "They could debrief Susan here. She's probably working for the CIA."

"Well... it appears that you and she have developed a friendship, and they felt they needed to do this here and now."

"What you mean is that they want to see whose side I'm on."

"Whatever."

"Can I a.s.sume you know what this is about?"

He saw the coffee setup and poured himself a cup. He asked me, "Do you think I could smoke here?" Without waiting for my answer, he lit a cigarette.

"Karl, do you know what this is about?"

He exhaled a stream of smoke and replied, "Actually, I was the first person to know. When the Tran Van Vinh letter landed on my desk, I thought about who to a.s.sign the case to. But the more I read the letter, the more intrigued I became with it. So, I a.s.signed it to myself. I was able to determine the ident.i.ty of the murdered man from my investigation of army files, combat records, and official unit histories. As you suggested in Washington, it was a fairly simple case of narrowing the list of men who served in Quang Tri City in February 1968. Lieutenant Hines, a MACV advisor, was killed in action at the Citadel on or about 7 February 1968. And his name is on the Wall. And then I came across the name of Captain Edward Blake, and I realized, of course, that I'd possibly found something of immense importance. Captain Blake was William Hines's commanding officer, and most probably the only American First Cavalry captain he'd be in close contact with. Of course, I couldn't be sure of that, and in fact, we're still not sure."

"I'm sure."

"Don't be so sure." He reminded me, "You don't convict a man of murder on flimsy circ.u.mstantial evidence."

"No. You blackmail him and let him become president of the United States."

He looked around for an ashtray as he changed the subject and said, "She's quite beautiful."

"You haven't seen her at 7 A.M. A.M. with a hangover." with a hangover."

"She would still be beautiful. Is Mr. Stanley upset with you?"

"He may be actually relieved."