I followed the guy out into the hallway, then into another room, an office, across the hall.

A uniformed officer in khakis with shoulder boards sat behind a desk, smoking. He said to me, "Who you? Why you here?"

This must be the nasty guy. I looked him in the eye and said in slow, simple English, "I-" I tapped my chest, "here to see Dai-ta Mang." I tapped my watch, "Appointment," then gave him my hotel bill. I didn't want to give him my driver's license because these clowns had enough of my official identification, and I pictured myself out in the street with no ID, except my monogrammed handkerchief.

In any case, the guy seemed okay with the bill, which he examined for some seconds. He then looked at a sheet of paper and seemed to be trying to match names. His cigarette ash broke off and landed on my hotel bill. I looked around for a fire extinguisher, or an exit sign.

Finally, Nasty looked up and said something to the guy who'd brought me in, waved the hotel bill around as if he was an unsatisfied hotel guest, and the other guy took the bill and motioned me to follow him. And we complain about rude civil servants.

So, I followed this guy down the long, straight hallway, wondering if I'd gotten my message across, or if they thought I was a bill collector from the Rex looking for a deadbeat named Mang. I hadn't realized how useful it was to have Susan with me.

Anyway, this guy stopped and knocked on a door numbered 6. The guy opened the door, but motioned me to stand back. He entered, I could hear talking, then the guy came out and pointed inside.

I entered a small windowless room. Sitting at a wooden table was Colonel Mang, and on the table was the hotel bill, a newspaper, his attache case, a teapot and cup, and an ashtray overflowing with b.u.t.ts. This was obviously not his office, which I suspected was in Section A; this was an interrogation room.

Colonel Mang said, "Sit."

I sat in a wooden chair across from him.

Colonel Mang looked as unpleasant as I remembered him at the airport. The narrow eyes, high cheekbones, sneering, thin lips, and taut skin made him look like he'd had six facelifts. His voice also still annoyed me.

Colonel Mang pretended to be looking at the papers on his desk, then looked up at me and said, "So, you have brought for me your itinerary."

"Yes, I have. And you've brought for me my pa.s.sport, and my visa, which you took from the hotel."

Colonel Mang looked at me a long time, then said, "Your itinerary."

I replied, "I leave for Nha Trang today. I will stay there for four or five days, then I go to Hue."

"Yes? And how do you travel to Nha Trang?"

"I've asked a travel agent to find me transportation. My ticket will be waiting for me at the Rex."

"And you have no ticket to show me?"

"No."

"So, you may go by automobile."

"I may."

"If this is the case, you must go through Vidotour, the official tour agency. This is the authorized way to travel by automobile and driver in Vietnam. You may not hire a private car and driver."

"I'm sure my travel agent knows that."

"They know. But they do not always follow this procedure. If you travel by automobile, you must book through Vidotour, and you must tell Vidotour office to call this office and report the name of your driver and the automobile license plate number."

"Sounds very reasonable." The good news seemed to be that I was free to go to Nha Trang. The bad news was that I was free to go to Nha Trang.

Colonel Mang asked me, "Who is this travel agent?"

"I don't know."

"Why do you not know?"

"I asked an American acquaintance in Ho Chi Minh City to a.s.sist me."

"Yes? And who is this American acquaintance?"

"Bill Stanley. Bank of America."

Colonel Mang hesitated a moment, then made a note of this. Bill Stanley now had something in common with Sheila O'Connor, who I'd ratted out to Father Bennett in another lifetime. Sometimes you've got to rat someone out, but never rat out a friend. Pick an Ivy League grad whenever you can.

Colonel Mang asked me, "How do you know this man?"

"We went to Princeton together. College."

"Ah... and you say he is with the Bank of America?"

I was getting a bad vibe about this for some reason. I replied, "I believe that's what he said."

Colonel Mang nodded, then said to me, "Inform your travel agent that he or she must telephone this office this morning and ask for me."

"Why?"

"You ask too many questions, Mr. Brenner."

"You ask too many questions, Colonel Mang." ask too many questions, Colonel Mang."

This p.i.s.sed him off, but he kept his cool. He looked at me and said, "You are the one who is raising questions in my mind."

"I have been completely truthful and cooperative with you."

"That remains to be seen."

I didn't reply.

He repeated, "Tell your travel agent to call me. Where are you staying in Nha Trang?"

"I have no reservations at this time."

"You must have an address."

"I'll get an address when I get there."

"Why do you wish to go to Nha Trang?"

"It was recommended as the best beach in Southeast Asia."

This seemed to please the little s.h.i.t, and he said, "It is. But you did not come all this way to go to the beach."

"I was there in 1968."

"Ah, yes, where the combat soldiers would go for rest."

I didn't reply.

Meanwhile, the guy was chain-smoking, and the air was thick with smoke, not to mention humidity and the smell of sweat, which may have been my own.

Colonel Mang made another note on a piece of paper and said to me, "When you arrive at Nha Trang, you will report to the Immigration Police and give them your address. If you do not find accommodations, inform them of this." He looked at me and said, "They will see to it that you have a place to sleep."

I thought he meant jail, but he continued, "They have some influence with the hotels." He smiled.

"I'm sure they have. I thank you, Colonel Mang, for your a.s.sistance, and I won't keep you any longer."

He gave me a nasty look and informed me, "It is I, Mr. Brenner, who am keeping you longer." He took a sip of tea and said to me, "How do you propose to travel from Nha Trang to Hue?"

"By whatever means are available."

"You must inform the Immigration Police in Nha Trang of your means of travel."

"Can they help me with transportation?"

He seemed to miss my sarcasm and said, "No." He looked at me and asked the big question. "You have five days between the time you leave your hotel in Hue and the time you are to check into the Metropole in Hanoi. What do you intend to do with those days?"

Well, I had to go to Tam Ki on a secret mission, but I really wanted to go to Washington and break Karl's neck.

"Mr. Brenner?"

"I'm going to travel up the coast, by train or by bus, to Hanoi."

"The trains do not run for four days after Sunday. The bus is unsuitable for Westerners."

"Really? Well, I'll hire a car and driver. Through Vidotour, of course."

"Why do you wish to travel by land and not aircraft?"

"I thought it would be educational to see the former North Vietnam on my way to Hanoi."

"What do you wish to learn?"

"How the people live. Their customs and way of life."

He thought about that a moment, then informed me, "For ten years, the people in the north suffered and died under American bombs, and sh.e.l.ls from your battleships. I recommend to you the Vinh Moc tunnels where the residents of that coastal town lived for seven years during the American bombardment. You may not find those people as friendly to you as you may have found them here in the former American puppet state."

Colonel Mang might make a good Cong World tour guide. I said, "Well, then, I want to learn from that experience."

He seemed to be mulling this over. If I was Colonel Mang, I wouldn't press Paul Brenner about this loose itinerary from Hue to Hanoi. Because if Paul Brenner was up to something, then most likely what he was up to was going to transpire during those days.

Mang looked at me and said, "You are free to travel north from Hue to Hanoi by any legal means at your disposal."

We made eye contact. We both knew we were both full of s.h.i.t.

Colonel Mang made a few more notes on his piece of paper, and though I'm trained to read upside down, I can't even read Vietnamese right side up. Colonel Mang said to me, "And when you are in Hue, you will visit the places in the vicinity where you were stationed. Correct?"

I replied, "I intend to take a day trip to Quang Tri City and see my former base camp."

"Well," said Colonel Mang, "you will be disappointed. There is no city of Quang Tri any longer. Only a village, and no evidence of the former American bases in the area. Everything was completely destroyed by American bombs in 1972."

I didn't reply.

He said, "You will report to the Immigration Police in Hue." Colonel Mang sat back, lit yet another cigarette, and stared at me through the smoke. "So, how have you spent your days in Ho Chi Minh City?"

Not wanting to p.i.s.s him off again about place names, I said, "In Ho Chi Minh City, I saw many excellent places. I took your advice and went to the Museum of American War Crimes."

He didn't seem overly surprised at this, making me wonder if I'd been followed.

I continued, "I saw photographs of what happened to the South Vietnamese soldiers and the Montagnard hill people who didn't lay down their arms after the surrender. They paid a high price, but they should have just gone into the re-education camps like a few million other people, and they would have come out happier and better citizens of the Socialist Republic."

Colonel Mang seemed uncertain of my enthusiasm and conversion. Maybe I was laying it on too thick, but there was no reason to stop. "That evening, I had dinner at the rooftop restaurant of the Rex where the American generals dined while their troops fought and died in the rice paddies and jungles."

I made eye contact again with Colonel Mang. If he was sharp, he already knew from my hotel bill where I had dinner, and that I hadn't dined alone, unless I ate a lot. But he just stared at me.

I said, "On Sunday, I saw the former presidential palace where Diem and Thieu lived like emperors while their soldiers and the people suffered and died."

Again, I couldn't tell if he already knew this. I decided that I was giving him too much credit for police state efficiency. I said to Mang, "I'm very impressed with all I've seen and learned." I elaborated a bit, as though I was an inmate in a re-education camp looking to get out.

Colonel Mang listened as I related my many moments of epiphany, and he nodded. He seemed to be buying it. If I'd bought those Ho Chi Minh sandals, I would have put my feet on his desk, but I seemed to be doing okay without the props.

I said, "On Sunday, I went out to the Cu Chi tunnels."

He leaned forward. "Yes? You traveled to the Cu Chi tunnels?"

Colonel Mang realized he'd shown genuine surprise instead of inscrutability. He asked, "How did you get to Cu Chi?"

"I took a tour bus. It was absolutely amazing. Two hundred kilometers of tunnels, dug right under the nose of the South Vietnamese and American armies. How in the world did they hide all that dirt?"

Colonel Mang answered my rhetorical question. "The soil was thrown into streams and bomb craters by thousands of loyal peasants, a kilo at a time. When the people work as one, anything is possible."

"I see that. Well, it was all very educational, and it certainly changed my thinking about the war." So, let's get the f.u.c.k out of here.

Colonel Mang stayed silent for some time, then asked me, "Why do you travel alone?"

"Why? Because I couldn't find anyone to go with me."

"Why did you not join a veterans' group? There are groups of men who shared the same experience and who return with organized tours."

"I've heard about that, but I wanted to come here during Tet, and I made a last-minute decision to just come."