Up Country (87 page)

“No. I just hid it.”

“Why?”

“We’re in a hostile country, John. I secured the evidence in a safe location.”

“Which you will now reveal to us.”

“Why? You don’t think much of it. Don’t worry about it.”

He ignored that and repeated, “You will tell us now where you hid it.”

“Why? Who are you?”

Eagan looked at Karl, who said to me, “I’m making that a direct order, Paul.”

“All right. I’ll tell you later. In private.”

Karl was happy to be the only one who could control me, and happier to be the sole recipient of some important information. He said, “Fine. We’ll speak later.”

Everyone had to be satisfied with that, and Colonel Goodman moved on and said to Karl, “You, Colonel, are an experienced and professional investigator. What is your opinion of this evidence? Would you recommend further investigation? The bringing of charges? Or a dismissal of the case?”

Karl played with his lower lip for a moment, then answered, “You must factor in the passage of time, and the nature of the witness. He may seem reliable and believable, but I wouldn’t want him as my witness unless I had
some other evidence to back up his testimony . . . and the single piece of relevant physical evidence described, an army roster, is simply not enough. If this was my case at this point, I’d drop it.”

I said, “Karl, that’s not true and you know it. It is at this point that you do the only thing you
can
do. Question the suspect.”

John Eagan jumped right in and said, “That will not happen, here or anywhere.” He looked at everyone and reminded us, “We’re losing sight of the most important issue. This . . . this matter could ruin the life and political career of an honorable man, a decorated veteran, a husband, father, and dedicated public servant. The American people do not need any more scandal or witch hunts. And there
are
international considerations. I dismiss this whole thing as unworthy of further discussion.”

Colonel Goodman thought a moment, then said, “I’d like to know how each of us who have this information would proceed. John?”

“Drop it and this meeting never took place.”

“Bill?”

“Drop it. And forget it.”

“Colonel Hellmann? This is an actual case for you, is it not?”

Karl Hellmann replied, “It never was official, and it never will be. Consider the file destroyed.”

I thought I heard a sigh of relief.

Colonel Goodman looked at me. “Paul?”

“I want time with the suspect.”

Goodman started to say something, then thought better of it and turned to Susan. “Ms. Weber?”

“I have absolutely no experience with the law or criminal matters, and I wouldn’t know what constitutes good evidence or circumstantial evidence, or a reliable or unreliable witness. But I know that four murders and a robbery were committed by an army captain, and the only captain we have who might have done it is in the guest room upstairs. Common sense says to talk to him. He may be able to tell you where he was that day. I mean, he could have been on leave, or in a hospital, or with ten other guys. You need to dig a little deeper, and maybe you’ll be happy with what you find, or maybe you’ll find you need to dig even deeper.”

Again, a long silence, then I said, “Look, I’m not convinced myself that Edward Blake is a murderer. I might even want to be convinced otherwise. Susan is right. There’s nothing lost by talking to the man.”

Eagan said to me, “So, you want me to go upstairs and roust the Vice President of the United States out of bed so he can come down here and answer questions about his possible involvement in a murder?”

“Why not?”

“Because, if I was him, I’d tell you to go fuck yourself.”

“I’ve been told that many times, John. That’s when I get a subpoena.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Karl can answer that.”

Eagan didn’t bother to ask Karl. Eagan said to me, “Look, if you want to get legal, you have no power and no authority to question anyone here, and certainly not the Vice President.”

“Voluntary questionings are done all the time, John. You first ask the person if he wants to voluntarily answer some questions. If he doesn’t, then you get a little suspicious, then you get a little subpoena.”

“Bullshit.”

Army officers rarely swear, and Goodman said, “Language, please.”

Eagan said, “Jesus Christ . . . I can’t believe this.”

John Eagan was obviously the hatchet man here, and probably had the most to lose, except for Edward Blake. Eagan, if he was the CIA bureau chief, had planned most of this mission along with Bill, and if it came off okay, John and Bill would be at Edward Blake’s inauguration ball, and in private they’d call him Eddie.

Washington has a different system of rewards and punishments, and it goes like this: If I know you did something wrong and I don’t punish you, then I want a reward. That, however, is not how I or the law works.

I said to Karl, “You and I, Karl, are sworn officers of the law. We are on United States property. The alleged crime was committed while the suspect was in the military. Do we have the right to ask Edward Blake to voluntarily answer some questions?”

Karl wanted to shake his head, but his training called for a nod. The result looked like a neck spasm. Finally, he said, “There may be a jurisdic-tional question.”

I said to Eagan, “Are you FBI?”

“No.”

“Who’s the FBI guy in the embassy?”

Eagan replied, “Who gives a shit? You’re pissing me off, Paul.”

Bill asked me, “Are you showing off for Susan?”

Before I could say “Fuck you,” Susan said, “No, he’s been a pain in the ass about this since he discovered the truth. He really means it.”

I slid off the desk and said, “I’m going upstairs to find Edward Blake.”

Eagan stood. “You take one step up those stairs, and you’re history, pal.”

“John, don’t make me hurt you.”

Everyone was standing now, and Colonel Goodman, our discussion leader, said, “That’s quite enough from both of you.” He looked at me and asked, “Paul, if I can arrange for the Vice President to join us, do I have your word that you’ll be satisfied that this investigation is concluded?”

I can see why Military Intelligence has a bad reputation. But
I’m
not stupid and I answered, “Of course.”

“And I have your word that you understand that anything that has been said tonight is for all time classified information?”

“Absolutely.”

“And your two weeks in Vietnam were tourism and nothing else.”

“Correct.” I noticed Bill and John looking at each other. They weren’t protesting, so that meant I’d won. Actually, it meant I was dead.

Colonel Goodman walked to the door and said, “I’ll get a Secret Service man to speak to the Vice President.” He left.

Karl said to me, “Paul, you may want to reconsider.”

I replied, “I just want to meet the VP. And get an autograph for my nephew.”

Susan stood and came over to me. She said, softly, “If you had one day left in Vietnam before you went home, would you volunteer for a dangerous mission?”

“No. But I’d follow orders. My last orders were to find a murderer.”

“I think Karl would like you to stop looking.”

“Fuck Karl. How about you?”

“I’m on your side. Do what you need to do.”

Goodman returned and said, “The Vice President will be joining us shortly.” He said to me, “You have ten minutes. You
will
be polite and respectful.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You will
not
make any accusations. You will present the facts, and if the Vice President wants to make a statement, he will. If not, it’s his right to remain silent.”

“Yes, sir. I do this all the time.”

“Good.”

The door opened, and everyone stood, but it was only my little friend Scott Romney. He looked around, gave me what was supposed to be a tough look, then left.

A few seconds later, Vice President Edward Blake walked in the Ambassador’s office. He was about my height and build, but not as good-looking as I am. He wore suit pants, a white dress shirt without the tie, and a silly silk kimono.

Edward Blake did not look annoyed, impatient, or puzzled, and certainly not personally worried, only officially concerned, like some crisis might be developing. He said, “Good evening. Problem?”

Colonel Goodman cleared his throat and said, “No, sir . . . nothing like that. May I introduce everyone?”

Goodman had given some thought to the intros, and introduced Susan Weber first as a Saigon resident and a friend of the Quinns’. Goodman then introduced Bill Stanley and Karl Hellmann, explaining, “Bill is here from Saigon and is a friend of Susan’s and also a colleague of John’s, whom you know. Colonel Hellmann is army, just in from D.C.” He saved the best for last and said, “This is Paul Brenner, also a friend of Ms. Weber’s, and a colleague of Colonel Hellmann’s.”

I shook the future president’s hand, and he said to me, “Ah, I know who you are. My wife spoke to you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You cost me a ten-dollar bet.”

More than that, Ed. “Yes, sir. She told me.”

The Veep explained this in a good-humored way, and everyone laughed politely. Edward Blake said to Susan, “And you’re his traveling companion.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any friend of Pat and Anne’s is a friend of mine.”

The guy was slick, but also charismatic, a man’s man, a lady’s dream, and maybe a nation’s nightmare.

Edward Blake looked around and said, “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you all.”

Not so fast, Ed.

Colonel Goodman said to the Veep, “Sir, this is not purely social . . . could we impose on you to give us a few minutes of your time? A serious matter has come up that should be brought to your attention.”

I studied Edward Blake’s face. The question that had been on my mind since Washington was, Did he know about this? In a way, it didn’t matter, except as it related to his participation, if any, in the cover-up of a crime. My hunch was that he hadn’t yet been told that the past had returned. You do the investigation first, then you tell the boss that you’ve got good news and bad news. The bad news is that we know what you did; the good news is that we can help.

Goodman motioned the Veep to Karl’s vacated chair, and he sat back, crossed his legs, and motioned for us to sit. We all sat, except me, who parked my ass on the edge of the desk.

Colonel Goodman said to Edward Blake, “Sir, this has to do with the reason that Mr. Brenner is in Vietnam, and why Colonel Hellmann is here . . .”

Blake looked at both of us, but said nothing.

Goodman continued, “I can assure you, sir, that everything that has been discussed in this room, and whatever will be discussed is limited to a handful of people, most of whom are here . . . and that anything that is discussed now will be considered confidential and privileged . . .”

Blake said, “Okay, you’ve assured me and you’ve aroused my curiosity. Can we get to the point?”

“Yes, sir. Perhaps Mr. Brenner would like to speak. It was his idea that we ask you to join us.”

Blake said to me, “You’re on, Paul.”

“Yes, sir. It’s my duty to inform you that Colonel Hellmann and I are with the army Criminal Investigation Division.”

This didn’t seem to get any reaction out of him, and maybe it didn’t sink in.

There are two opening questions you always ask in a homicide investigation, and I asked the first one. “Do you know a man named William Hines?”

This caught him completely off guard, and his expression went through a remarkable change, and I swear the color drained from his face. Everyone there saw it, and everyone had to come to the same conclusion.

“Sir?”

“Uh . . . don’t . . . what was that name?”

“William Hines. Lieutenant William Hines.”

“Oh . . . yes . . . I served with him. In Vietnam.”

“Yes, sir.” I asked the second question. “When was the last time you saw him alive?”

“Uh . . . alive? Oh, yes, he was killed in action. That’s right.”

“When was the last time you saw him alive, sir?”

“Uh . . . let me see . . . the Tet Offensive had started in late January . . . I guess I saw him a few days after . . . he went missing . . . our Headquarters was overrun . . . so . . . I’m not really sure, but about February 4 or 5 . . . 1968.” He did what they all do and asked me, “Why do you ask?”

I usually say, “I’ll ask the questions, you give the answers.” But even I’m not that ballsy. I said, “Sir, it’s come to the attention of the army Criminal Investigation Division that Lieutenant William Hines was murdered in the Treasury Building within the Citadel at Quang Tri City, on or about 7 February 1968. We have good reason to believe that his assailant was a United States Army captain. We have some evidence and an eyewitness, and what we’re trying to do now is learn the identity of that assailant.”

He was starting to compose himself, and he looked shocked. “My God . . . are you sure?”

“Yes, sir. We’re sure he was murdered by an army captain.”

“Good Lord . . .” He wasn’t looking at anyone in the room and wasn’t really looking at me. He said, “That was a terrible time . . . I was with the MACV group then, and we were surrounded in the Citadel and fighting for our lives. I think there were only about twenty American officers and NCOs—”

“Eight officers and nine NCOs, according to the unit roster.”

He looked at me. “Is that right? Anyway, I think only seven of us survived . . .” He thought it might be a good idea to change the subject and said to me, “Pat Quinn tells me you saw combat in ’Nam.”

“Yes, sir. First Cav, like you, 1968, like you. I was a rifleman with Delta Company, First Battalion, Eighth Cavalry, First Air Cav, outside Quang Tri City about that time.”

“Really?” He forced a smile and said, “What were you guys doing
outside
the city? We needed you inside.”

I smiled in return. “Looked too dangerous in there.”

He laughed and said, “Well, if I can think of anything that might help you, Paul . . . and Karl . . . in this matter, I’ll contact you.” He stood, and everyone stood.

I said to him, “Sir, would you like to speak to me in private?”