Thursday, April 24

THU, COME IN HERE PLEASE!” AMBASSADOR Martin called as she rushed past his office door.

“Come in. Sit down. Sit down.”

“Thank you, sir—Mr. Ambassador, I mean,” Thu said as she stepped into his office and looked around for a place to sit. She selected the straight-backed mahogany Chippendale. She wasn’t about to sink into one of the overstuffed, silk brocade chairs that were arranged in a semicircle in front of Martin’s aircraft-carrier-size rosewood desk. Those seats were reserved for dignitaries. Martin especially liked to have admirals from Pacific Command headquarters in Honolulu sit in those chairs. It reduced their height and in doing so chipped away at their arrogance.

“Tea?” Martin offered, “I can have some sent in.”

“No, thank you, sir. I’m fine.”

“How long have you worked for the State Department, Miss Thu? And here at the embassy?”

“Five years, sir. Five years this May.”

“You were granted a top-level secret clearance. That means we trust you, and depend on you, especially when we need someone to liaise with the Vietnamese nationals. I also want you to consider our meeting here classified. No need to stoke the rumor mill.”

“Yes, of course,” Thu replied as she wondered where the conversation was heading. She nervously smoothed the tunic of her ao dai and averted her eyes from Martin’s, focusing instead on the miniature sword on his desk—a gift from the mayor of Saigon.

“I can count on you, right? Now, you do understand that our government loves to make contingency plans. I want to talk to you about this—the contingency plans,” Martin said.

“Go on, sir. Please, go on.” Thu was growing impatient. Martin was being hesitant and obtuse. She had work to do. All Thu could think about was the pile of envelopes Carwood had dropped on her desk. He wanted her to look up the names and addresses of every accredited correspondent, cross off the ones who had already left, and write the names of those still in town on the envelopes. He wanted it done right away. She thought to herself, I’ve got a ton of work and everyone inside the embassy is running around like chickens trying to escape the soup pot. Where is this going?

Martin poured himself some water from a silver pitcher and took a sip. He continued, “Thu, you do understand that when we create plans at the embassy, it doesn’t mean we are actually going to implement those plans.”

“Yes,” Thu replied, “I understand.”

“I want to assure you. Even though we have a plan, our personnel are not evacuating. Saigon is safe.” Martin pulled a Gauloises Caporal cigarette from the pack on his desk and lit it with a smoldering cigarette from his ashtray. When he crushed out the old butt, ashes flew everywhere.

Growing impatient, Thu responded, “Would you not call Operation Babylift an evacuation, sir? You sent those Vietnamese people out. They were mostly the children of GIs. You are also sending Vietnamese out to refugee camps at Clarke Air Base in the Philippines and to Guam. We hear the talk.” She shifted in her chair, trying to avoid having a loose cigarette ember burn a hole in her ao dai.

“Yes. Yes. But that is on a limited basis. Of course. We have fifteen hundred embassy employees here. They are not being evacuated. Let me be clear, there is no evacuation plan for our employees. And I hope I can count on you to support our mission as long as it takes.”

“That number, sir. Fifteen hundred employees?”

‘Yes, what about it.”

“That is only the total number of American employees—1,486 to be exact. Why don’t you mention Vietnamese employees?”

Ignoring her, Martin went on, “I need to know I can count on you. To be here. When I need you. No one is leaving. We are all together—Americans, Vietnamese. It is a contingency plan.”

“Yes, sir,” she responded. Still puzzled by the whole exchange, she started to get up.

Martin continued, “Although … you might hear the phrase Frequent Wind, and something about using the roof of the embassy or the CIA station to escape by helicopter. Well, Frequent Wind is the contingency. It’s not going to happen.”

“Yes, Frequent Wind. It is only a plan. Are Vinh and I included in your Frequent Wind?”

“There is no need. What good would that do? If it comes to an evacuation, you and Vinh will be included. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly. Thank you, sir. May I go now?”

“Yes. You may go now.”

Thu left the ambassador’s office and, as she walked down the hallway shaking her head in disbelief, she saw Carwood heading toward her.

Carwood and Thu had worked on the same floor for as long as he had been in Vietnam. Whenever he wanted to keep projects out of his own section—to avoid office rumors—he gave the work to Thu. Like addressing the pile of envelopes on her desk. Carwood admitted to a couple of his friends that he also had an office crush on her. He liked her naïveté and earnestness, to say nothing of her stunning good looks.

Once, when she was attending English classes for Vietnamese employees, she came into Carwood’s office and showed him an assignment she had completed and asked him to read it. The class had been assigned to write an essay titled, “Traditional Dishes of Vietnam.” Thu produced a beautifully written, perfectly punctuated essay. She described in elaborate detail the ceramics factory near her hamlet where they produced the traditional hand-painted “dishes of Vietnam.”

Carwood praised the piece and then started to laugh, suggesting the teacher might have been expecting a report on “dishes” such as spring rolls and pho—not dinnerware. Thu turned red from embarrassment. Her eyes filled with tears. She ran to the ladies’ room and would not come out even at the urging of another female worker Carwood sent in to talk to her. She couldn’t face him, at least not that day.

For weeks, Carwood tried to apologize. Over time her embarrassment subsided, and the episode became their private joke, creating a permanent bond between them.

“I’ll get those envelopes done for you right away,” Thu told him, hoping she could avoid questions about her meeting with Martin.

“I heard you had a meeting with Old Man?” Carwood said. He paused, waiting for her to offer details.

“Heard? You saw me leave his office a minute ago.”

“What did he tell you?”

“I can’t go into it. He told me not to talk about it.”

“Look, he’s been meeting with every Vietnamese employee here,” Carwood said, interrupting her before she could finish. “Don’t believe the rumors you hear about not evacuating. Does that sound like what he called you in for? It is what he’s been telling everyone. Is that what he told you?”

“I suppose … that could be what he talked to me about.”

“Did he mention ‘Frequent Wind’?”

“Come on Carwood, stop asking. You are my special friend but I cannot tell you.”

“Never mind. You don’t have to answer. What’s your husband’s name?”

“Vinh.”

“Vinh what?”

“Vinh Anh Nguyen.”

“Age?” Carwood asked, taking a notebook from his pocket.

“Twenty-seven.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six. Carwood, what is this all about?”

“Do you have any relatives in Saigon?”

“No. They are all dead.”

“Thu, let me say it this way. Martin is delusional.”

“What do you mean, ‘delusional’?”

“He’s not well, physically or mentally. He is fooling himself. He doesn’t see what is happening.”

“He said many times that when the time came, we would be rewarded for our loyalty. We would have instructions on where to go, if there is an evacuation.”

“And do you have these instructions?”

“I do not. But they have been promised.”

“Don’t be so damn stupid!” Carwood blurted out before he could catch himself.

“You are scaring me now! And you are being a little bit rude!”

“You can’t count on Martin to make good on his promises. Listen to me. When it is time, I will send for you to come to Le P’tit Bistrot. There you will get instructions and the paperwork you need to get out of Saigon. Do you know the place?”

“Yes. Yes. I know it.”

“Just be there when I tell you. I’ll get you out.”

* * *

Nuoc Thi Quanh sat alone in her bedroom, trying to decide what to do next. Incredibly, her mother and father—her entire family—had chosen to go to America with Pham’s husband, Matt. Let them go, she thought. As soon as the war ends they will return, despite what they say.

She thought about her fiancé, who was off somewhere with his helicopter unit. Nuoc had not heard from him in almost a week, but he was an experienced Air Force officer and a pilot. She was sure he was all right. But what would she do, all alone, if the Northern soldiers managed to invade the city?

What she wasn’t going to do was wait around until that happened. Her music teacher, Truc Vu, would be in his office at the Opera House now. If anyone could advise her, it would be him. After all, she was always his favorite student.

As she was about to leave, a tall American entered the courtyard.

“Nuoc?” he said. “Are you Nuoc Thi Quanh—Pham’s sister?”

Hearing her sister’s name surprised her. She had not seen Pham in over a year—not since Pham’s last visit to Vietnam, after she had married and moved to California.

“Who are you?” she said.

“I’m Pham’s husband, Matt. A couple of hours ago I helped your family onto a plane for the Philippines.”

“They were foolish to leave! They are giving up their home, their country! For what?”

“Everyone knows the North Vietnamese have the city surrounded. What happens next is anyone’s guess. Your father is worried. He asked me to find you and help get you out.”

“My place is here, with my husband—my fiancé. We will be married as soon as this stupid war ends. It won’t be as bad as everyone thinks. The communists will be no worse than the miserable government we already have.”

“Your father told me your fiancé and his unit are somewhere out there right now, probably up in Phan Rang, trying to hold back the North Vietnamese. If he isn’t killed in the fighting, he will be captured when the NVA overruns the rest of this country, including Saigon. It’s happened before—are you old enough to remember the Tet Offensive in ’68? There will be reprisals. Anyone who is allied with the South or with its soldiers will be punished.”

“I don’t believe you and I’m not going anywhere until I see my fiancé again!”

Matt stood silently, trying to think of a way to move her forward. He liked that she was willing to stand her ground, though. She reminded him of her big sister Pham.

“Tell you what,” he said, finally. “Take two days, no more, to locate your guy and decide what you’ll do. I’ve got a Marine buddy at the embassy—I’ll see if he can get us a couple of exit visas. I’ll even get one for your fiancé and find a way to get us out of the country. Civilian evacuations of South Vietnamese nationals have stopped, but there may still be some flights out, or maybe a ship that will take us. But you have to promise me—we meet back here no later than Thursday, okay?”

Nuoc looked doubtful. “I’ll meet you here, but I’m still not going anywhere without my fiancé.”

“Then let’s leave it there for now,” he said. “Meanwhile, be careful. Everything I’ve seen tells me this city could fall quickly. We don’t want to be here when that happens.”