Conspiracy

38

Once he made contact with the Vietnamese official, Dean’s job at the reception was over. He had to stay to maintain his cover, however, so he did his best to make small talk with the Vietnamese agricultural officials, bureaucrats, and other foreign salesmen at the gathering. Never good at mingling, Dean found it even more perplexing with the accented English that was used as the common tongue. The “conversations” generally consisted of vague questions answered by nods and half smiles.

He avoided Tang. It was a good bet that at least some of the Vietnamese suspected she was CIA, though he noticed that didn’t stop them from talking to her. She may not have been extraordinarily pretty, but she was one of the few women and by far the youn gest at the gathering, and that definitely worked in her favor.

“You were here during the war?” a bespectacled Vietnamese man asked Dean just as he was getting ready to leave.

“Yes,” said Dean.

“Where?”

“Quang Nam Province, mostly.”

“You were a Marine, then,” said the man. It was a reasonable guess; for much of the war the Marines had been the primary American force in Quang Nam, with a large base at Da Nang.

“Yes, I was.” Dean looked at him more closely. The man had brown splotch marks on his face and wrinkle marks at the corners of his eyes, half-hidden by the glasses. He was a few years older than Dean. Though thin, he had broad shoulders and a substantial chest; if he were a tree he would be an oak.

“I was with the Army of the Republic of Vietnam,” said the man. He made no effort to lower his voice, though he was referring to the South Vietnamese Army — in theory an enemy of the present government. “A lieutenant and then a captain.”

“I see.”

“We worked with Marines. Very good fighters. Loyal.”

“Thank you.”

Curiosity roused, Dean asked the man how he came to be part of the present government.

“I was not a spy or a traitor,” the former Army officer told Dean. “I’ve been rehabilitated. Connections help.”

“Charlie, Tommy’s in trouble,” said Rockman in his ear.

“We need you to back him up now.”

Dean made a show of glancing at his watch.

“I have to make a phone call back to one of my accounts at home,” he told the former ARVN soldier. “I’m sorry to have to leave.”

“My card,” said the man, reaching into his pocket. “If you have some free time, call me.”

“I’ll try,” said Dean, taking the card, though he knew it was doubtful he’d use it. “I’d like that.”