February-March 1974: near Dien Bien Phu, North Vietnam: In the remote, jungle-covered hills some eighty kilometres from the Laos-Tonkin border, near Dien Bien Phu was a small, heavily guarded camp. It contained the highly secret Office 95, staffed by dedicated Political Commissars and civilian functionaries. The significance of ‘95’ was merely that the chief Vietnamese representative worked in room number 9 while his Lao counterpart in room number 5. Planning, coordinating and directing clandestine activities, such as subversion, sabotage, the running of intelligence and counter-intelligence networks, disinformation and brazen strong-arm tactics designed to further the revolution by exerting political pressure wherever necessary was its responsibility. Its teaching was based on Marxist-Leninist principles as dilated and modelled on the KGB Training School No 311 in Novosibirsk, Siberia’s largest town. Various courses and seminars were also run in the camp, as was now the case.
On Wednesday, 27 February, an important meeting, chaired by the Political Commissar, Nga Sô Lựự, had lasted some time. There were only two more points for discussion: ‘The last but one item needs careful consideration; in fact both these last two points do. One we can’t do anything about and one we can. First, then, the one we have to live with: the royal wedding.’ The sneer in the speaker’s voice and the glare from his soulless, vacant-pitted, black eyes, were so malevolent that the others, used though they were to the never-to-be-used nicknamed Black-eyed Butcher’s bile, looked at him in surprise. Even the Communists recognised marriages, albeit hemmed in with man-made constraints. ‘The royal wedding is nothing but an imperialist-feudalist plot to perpetuate the corrupt regimes of the puppet Princes of Champassak and the decaying relics of Luang Prabang. What reports have we had in about any populist reaction against it?’
The general consensus was that among the foreign community, the upper and middle class Lao, the wedding was seen as a welcome and steadying influence for unity, while among the peasantry, hardly any feelings would be generated. It was felt that the wedding might possibly bespeak an early coronation and it seemed that the Vientiane-side propaganda was making efforts to swing opinion in that direction. Nga Sô Lựự thought for a while then continued:
‘I believe that the down-trodden masses of the Occupied Zone have an unhealthy fixation about the coronation. That will serve our immediate purpose. I will recommend that the invitation to Savang Vatthana to visit Sam Neua be processed to coincide with New Year, 2518 in their calendar, the Year of the Hare. I rather like these long-range ploys. In this case, we cannot ignore the situation. As I have said before, this is one aspect of that corrupt society we must put right. We fixed that fat French puppet Bao Dai, now Savang Vatthana and Norodom Sihanouk I Cambodia must be disposed with.’ The Black-eyed Butcher had rubbed his hands in glee when he mentioned getting rid of the former emperor whom the French had installed in Vietnam soon after the end of the war. On mentioning the other two names, his gestures once more became tautly hostile.
‘So regarding the royal wedding’ – again with heavy sarcasm – ‘I will issue some instructions about informing the masses of our attitude to it. And now onto my last point: a long-range ploy I do not like: Mana Varamit, our comrade returning to the fold. It is more than fifteen months since he was wounded, a sad day for him and us. Recovered in body but not in mind, we have had the neurologist to see him two or three times. On the last occasion he said that Mana should be given another three months at Ban Ban, attached to the hospital but free to wander around contacting soldiers. The hope was that he might realise that he was not Le Dâng Khoã by an association of ideas. The latest reports from Ban Ban indicate no change in his condition. The two doctors in charge of the case believe they should now take certain corrective action, if possible with a second opinion beforehand. The Politburo feels such is justified as, despite the positive outcome of our heroic struggle, it is ever vital that the body politic of our movement remains Marxist-Leninist pure. They have a feeling that Comrade Mana can help consolidate any devious thinking or tendencies amongst a miniscule handful of us – I leave it at that,’ and he leant forward in his chair, looking hard at everyone there in turn as if to say, ‘If it is you …’
‘Back then to specifics,’ he continued after taking a sip of water from a glass on his table. ‘In Mana Varamit’s case, mid-March is the deadline for natural recovery. Then a team, probably comprising two doctors, a Political Commissar, an Intelligence officer and two escorts, will go to Ban Ban and, having interviewed him there, bring him back here to decide on whether lobotomy is the answer. You, Comrade,’ pointing to one of the men sitting opposite him, ‘will go to Ban Ban and warn the hospital to expect a delegation arriving on the …’ and he searched through some papers on his desk. ‘Yes, here we are; 15 March. Travel details have yet to be finalised.’
The date was duly noted and after some ritual haranguing and extolling of even greater vigilance to safeguard themselves against the wicked tricks of the imperialists and reactionaries, the meeting broke up. As an afterthought, Nga Sô Lựự turned to the man going to Ban Ban and said, almost conspiratorially, ‘Tell them we’re persevering with Mana. ‘Perseverance’ is the watchword.’
At about the same time as the Office 95 meeting drew to a close and Rance was having an impromptu audience with the King, yet another meeting was under way in Vientiane. This was a two-man affair being held in the house of the Director of Intelligence of the Royal Lao Army, one Brigadier General Etam Singvongsa. The Director was an interesting man: a native of Sam Neua, he had remained loyal to his French oath from pre-1954. He had an innate astuteness above the average of his brother officers so, although not from any of the hereditary landed families, he had risen to the rank of 2-Star General. Most of the top brass had gone to the wedding but not General Etam. This was not out of any disrespect to the royal couple or to the throne but merely that his name had come out of the hat for the one man of any executive power to stay back in Vientiane. He was not to know that there had only been one name in the hat to start with.
The British intelligence fraternity could be of use to their American counterparts when the attitude of the locals, or those in opposition to the locals, was xenophobic in their opposition to the USA. Such places were North Vietnam, Cuba and Mother Russia. Conversely, where locals were engaged in trying to keep the Baddies at bay, for example in Laos, the Khmer Republic, South Vietnam and South Korea, they were more than likely to be prepared to listen to what the Americans had to say and, at times, even to help them out. This was the case in Vientiane so perforce the Americans had to be brought in. The person needed was the CIA Head of Station, a man so code-word crazy that he was only ever known as ‘Mango’. The name confused the Lao who came into contact with him and made an added mystery out of the English language but so many things the Americans did confused them one more detail did not matter. The meeting had been initiated by Gordon Parks who had persuaded Mango to fix one with General Etam ‘today as ever is’. Late evening was the only time the General was free.
Gordon Parks had liked the idea of Tâ Tran Quán being the man to try and recover Mana and had further agreed that Charlie, a Thai, not a Lao, was therefore the best bet in not breaking the ceasefire protocols and only involving the Lao minimally. He had therefore sent an urgent signal to his opposite number in Bangkok asking that Charlie be made available to come and see him, Gordon Parks, and be his guest for about a fortnight. The answer had come on the morning of the 27th saying that regrettably Charlie could not be immediately contacted and anyway a period of fourteen days needed considerable notice to arrange. This added a further dimension in the planning and the only man Parks could think of to solve this new problem was General Etam.
So it was that over supper prior to the meeting Gordon Parks brought Mango up-to-date with what Rance had reported from his talk with Tâ and the outline operational requirements. ‘The question is,’ Gordon Parks was saying as his servant had put some bean-curd mousse in front of them both and retired, ‘Who do we have, now, instead of Charlie?’
‘I believe it has to be someone who knows Tâ, can get on with him and whom Tâ trusts. I’ve been around the “rallier” set-up as they like it known and my guess is that the Tai Dam Major Vong who looks after Tâ is the cookie we’re looking for – hates the Gooks’ guts and if he was a Christian he’d say “kill a Communist and Christ smiles”. He has probably already operated in the target area and maybe he knows Ban Ban personally. If I were a betting man, I’d put my money on him.’
‘Sounds just right. Do you think Etam will bite? If not, can he suggest A N Other and, if so, what do you think his price will be and, even if we can pay, what will Tâ say to him?’
‘I think he’ll bite but let me talk to him nicely. The other points we need his agreement on are tacit approval of what we are doing, provision of another four men, help in providing documents and radio, clearance to fly the party into the Irregular enclave at Bouam Long and requirements therefrom – local protection, emergency procedures and the like.’
‘And cover story?’
‘The truth, as near as we can. Tell him one of the Thai Unity Forces is our agent, was on his way over to us after completing a particularly hazardous mission and is detained in Ban Ban hospital. No need to tell him how we know that. Once we’ve gotten him out, Etam can use him or, at least, be privy to our debrief. Our team will be six: Tâ as a visiting doctor, the Tai Dam as overall commander and we will need an Intelligence man, one who has had some minor sabotage training and two others. Time frame? To be at Ban Ban by the 13th or 14th of the coming month. Neat? Neat! I’m on my way now. I’ll call in tomorrow with the answers. By the way, what was that we’ve just eaten?’
‘Bean-curd mousse. Change from mango chutney. On your way or you’ll be late!’
Mango grinned, thanked Gordon Parks for the meal and drove away to the General’s house. He was only semi-confident he would succeed. Etam’s price might be too high.
The General greeted him affectionately. ‘Come in, Mr Mango. What would you like to drink? I’ve got some Singha whisky, some Thai brandy, a spot of Bourbon.’
‘Bourbon on the rocks please, General, if you’ve got any rocks.’
They made themselves comfortable and Mango gave Etam a Camel cigarette and lit it for him. He lifted his glass. ‘Cheers, General. Here’s to our health, an easy conscience, a quick victory and a lasting peace.’
They clinked glasses and drank. Etam looked at his guest quizzically, lower lip stretched slightly, creasing the corners of his mouth. ‘Out with it, Mango, but keep it simple. My English is not so good. Better than your French, though!’ A smile robbed the remark of any offence.
‘General, it’s like this. It’s a sensitive matter I want to discuss with you and only you. It is one that could do Laos a lot of good. I say “could” not “will” because there’s always the chance of failure. It concerns one of our Thai Unity Forces, someone we had groomed for a dangerous mission. Using the cover of the secret army, he slipped across to the other side and became involved in matters not normally the prerogative of a soldier. Sorry, not normally the concern, the business, of a soldier.’ He had seen a look on Etam’s face that showed he had not fully followed what had been said. ‘He bugged out before it was too hot for him and got sick. Somehow he found that he could get admitted to Ban Ban hospital, where he is now. I want him rescued before the Baddies catch up with him. Now there are snags to this: one is the ceasefire and the protocols and another is who goes and fetches him, always provided he can’t get away under his own steam. My info is that he needs rescuing. Yet another problem is where does the rescue team launch itself from? I have one possibility in mind. I’m not going too fast for you, am I, General?’
Etam’s shrewd eyes gave none of his feelings away. He was a past master at concealing them. ‘So far I understand you perfectly, Mango. You want us to get our hands dirty at our expense and your convenience. Please continue.’
‘Put like that, it sounds a bit raw, General,’ said Mango, smiling deprecatingly. ‘Let me tell you some more. This man, Mana Varamit, got friendly with Tâ Tran Quán and, under the circumstances, I guess, Tâ is the best man to go and rescue him. I have every reason to believe he would be prepared to cooperate. He used to be a Political Commissar and knew our man when they were both in Nam.’ Etam remembered the recent medical examination in the American hospital that Tâ had undergone and he knew that the British Attaché had secretly gone there to talk to him. He had known it would not stop there. Mango continued, ‘He knows enough to bluff his way into the Ban Ban hospital. For a friend to go with him I have thought your arch Gook-hater, the Tai Dam Major, would be ideal. Go disguised as a doctor and be ready with the treatment if necessary, for our man or for anyone else in need of it.’ He emphasised the word “treatment”, gave a sick grin which Etam, noticing, replied in similar vein. ‘The party would be small, just those two and a close escort of, say, four men. They would fly into Bouam Long on the milk run and be launched for Ban Ban the same day. We have it in mind, provided we can get your agreement, to rescue our man on March 13 or 14. Once that is agreed in outline, we need to consider such details as documents, uniform, rations and so forth.’
‘H’m. You seem pretty keen to get him. You’re not saying he’s a prisoner of war? If so, no deal. The protocols of POWs will be seen to have been broken.’
‘No, General. I can assure you that he’s not in that category. He’s an agent on the run who’s gotten into difficulties. The information he may well be in possession of is difficult to assess but we firmly believe he had a lead into Office 95. If that is the case, it would be mighty useful to us and to you. Might forestall a whole heap of trouble and forewarn us of their long-range plans.’
‘Yes, I can see that it’s important. I’d be happier if we could make it …’ he searched for a word. ‘What do you call it in English? Un … Unat …’
‘Unattributable.’
‘That’s it. Unattributable.’
‘It’ll be the next best thing the way we’ve got it so far.’
There was a silence. General Etam filled up Mango’s glass and took another cigarette. He had his own reasons for wanting to know what was going on in Ban Ban but the American need not know that. He would have to talk with Tâ and Vong. If they were willing, well and good. If not, he would have to say no. It was a tricky one. If all went well, it would redound greatly in his favour, certainly among some of the more senior members of the Vientiane side. If not, he’d be in stook. He glanced up at the American. Was there more to it than met the eye? There usually was when dealing with Americans. He broke the silence.
‘How many others know about this?’
‘On my net, General, only myself and two others, on the need-to-know basis. As far as my embassy staff is concerned, nobody, not even the Ambassador.’
‘So the Thais in Bangkok know about this man?’
‘This is the tricky aspect of the whole affair. It was not from their sources I got the news about our man so, as far as that is concerned, no. In that he is one of their men, he will be recorded either under his real name or his secret one.’
‘And you say Tâ is a volunteer? That he will accept, has accepted, this mission?’
‘Yes, General, that is what I am saying.’
‘That is interesting, Mango. I know you can’t speak Lao, Vietnamese or French. I also know that Tâ cannot speak English. Who did you use as your interpreter?’
There was an uneasy pause. Better to come clean. ‘I never spoke to Tâ myself so I never used an interpreter. It was the British Defence Attaché, Colonel Rance, who spoke to him and he told Gordon Parks, whom you know well, and Gordon told me. They are the other two who know.’
This was not the breach of trust that might have been committed had Parks’ name not been already declared to the General, so he did not look surprised on hearing his name. He digested the news gravely, measuring the significance.
‘As you say in English, “the plot thickens”. From what I know of Colonel Three Eyes, the man who doesn’t miss a trick, it’ll be genuine and worthwhile to mount as an operation. I remember the Deputy C-in-C giving clearance for the medical examination – I wonder if he knows the full story?’ Mango took this last as more of a statement than a question, so remained silent. ‘I’ll let you know definitely in a day or two,’ and with that Mango had to be satisfied.
Mana Varamit, blissfully ignorant of the urgent concern about his memory, lay on his back in a small isolation ward in Ban Ban hospital, staring at the ceiling. His head felt muzzy, as it often did these days. He was given drugs and they cleared his head for a while but made him feel sleepy. He found it difficult to concentrate. They had asked him so many questions, so many times. He remembered his name, Le Dâng Khoã, and could talk about some aspects of his earlier days in Vietnam. But they said his name was Mana … what was it? … Varamit. He could speak Lao, Thai and Vietnamese, had done for as long as he could remember. English, which he never used now, also came into his mind often, so did some French. Came and went. Better some days than others. He was not lonely in this Ban Ban place. It had been fun when he first got to this new place. Could wander around and see what was going on. Could ask questions and understand some of the answers. But it was the nights that troubled him. Nightmares. People creeping up behind him, people moving forwards towards him. Sometimes a large black tadpole that made a loud noise flew round and round overhead. Never had any wings. And then a face looking at his with strange, staring eyes. He’d never forget that face. He often looked for it but he’d never seen it again. He was sure he’d recognise it if ever he did see it. He dozed. There was a knock on the door and a nurse entered. Pretty young thing. She always came at this time of evening. Stopped for a short chat. Always said something different but he could never remember clearly what she had said from one day to another. She took his temperature, felt his pulse, gave him his pills and started talking about rice planting. He could keep pace with most of it but some of it didn’t mean much. The nurse looked at her watch. Keep at it for fifteen minutes, they had said. Gave her a topic. She didn’t know what was in their minds but she liked this man: strong, sometimes that glint in his eyes made her shudder with something she dare not tell her comrades. Maybe one day she would be able to make an unofficial approach to him – should be easy enough especially as the doctor lived out. She put those thoughts out of her mind and once more glanced at her watch. ‘Time to leave. Good luck.’ She left him. Said in Thai, ‘Chok di.’ She had turned her head back to the door so she did not see a spurt of interest flicker in his eyes. She left him. He lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. A nag was at the back of his mind. Chok Di … Chok Di … No, he couldn’t get it. He fell into an uneasy sleep.
Ban Ban camp consisted of a headquarters, a 34-man garrison of security troops, a few sappers for road maintenance, clerks, cooks and bottle-washers. There were a 30-bed hospital and, just out of sight of the main camp road, a communication centre. Part of the camp nestled up against a river that formed a protective arc deemed sufficiently secure not to need reinforcement. This was where the senior cadres slept and ate and where visitors were housed. An underground shelter had been dug nearby. The junior cadres were housed halfway between there and the camp entrance. The rest of the camp had a barbed wire fence around it. A road neatly divided the camp in two. At the entrance was a ceremonial arch on which the Pathet Lao flag was unfurled during the day and, close by, a guardroom manned day and night. The hospital was in the centre of the camp, to the north of the road, opposite the cookhouse and not far from the offices, stores and accommodation for lesser-ranked functionaries, for while all Communists were equal in the eyes of Lenin’s ghost, until the Day of Red Awakening as the Propaganda Department had it, the humble were to remain humble. The corollary was never stated nor hinted at – merely accepted with bored indifference.
The hospital consisted of an office block, a medical store and a pathological laboratory, where rudimentary tests could be carried out, a small operating theatre, a smaller mortuary, three wards for ten patients each and an isolation ward in the middle of the hospital complex, easily visible from the other buildings. The staff quarters had accommodation for a resident doctor although, since the ceasefire, he had been allowed to sleep out in the village of Ban Ban, to run the local clinic.
There was electricity of sorts available in the camp, supplied by a charging engine that was fitful in performance and wasteful of fuel. Apart from a daily communications schedule, it was only used on rare occasions such as an emergency. Otherwise messages of a routine nature were sent over the landline. For lighting, hurricane lanterns were used. Cooking was done by firewood.
The enclave at Bouam Long, three days’ slow walk away, gave no trouble. Before the ceasefire, the NVA had tried to capture it but had always been repulsed by massive B-52 strikes. At the end of February 1974, all was quiet, with a tacit agreement of non-interference. Both sides liked it that way.
Before flying back to Vientiane from the royal wedding and his late-night meeting with the King, Jason called on the Neutralisation Forces and had a formal, stiff meeting, hemmed in, orally by platitudes, physically by henchmen. After the routine ritual was over, Rance thanked them formally. Thong said he would escort him to the gate. When out of earshot of the others Thong said, ‘I hate it like this but we must be patient. Tell Tâ from me to try and swap with Mana. I’ll get to see him at Sam Neua or Office 95.’ He stopped, put out his hand, turned his head slightly so that anyone watching might read disdain in the motion and bade Rance farewell. ‘Go carefully,’ he whispered.
Rance nodded gently and walked slowly back to the hotel. He spent the evening reading quietly but found he could not concentrate.
His Majesty the King of Laos and the Chief Bonze were having an informal chat in the same room where the King had spoken to Rance and Princess Golden Fairy the previous night. The two men, wise and highly respected, felt a deep empathy with and affection for each other. They had known one another for many years and, despite informality, had never deviated from the correct titles and dignities that society and rank had accorded them. Both were dressed casually, the King wearing a loose jacket over a homespun shirt, with a draped skirt-like garment over his lower limbs and the monk a plain saffron robe. Both were bare footed.
‘I am worried, Your Holiness, as I expect you are. We seem to be living in a world that is foreign and different in character from what we knew before. Oh, I know we’ve had wars and feuds since the beginning of time but I find it hard to imagine when any period was quite so universally nasty, so degrading and so unnecessary. Almost wherever one turns there’s violence. I tell you I’m troubled.’
‘Your Majesty. We have good reason to be troubled. I have spent a lifetime in search of dharma but can in no way reconcile my life’s efforts to the current situation.’
‘When my father was on the throne, we thought we were living through troubled times, as indeed we were, but we hoped that after the Japanese had gone, peace would return. Instead of which our beloved Luang Prabang is surrounded by my subjects who have been led down the wrong path for so long that they know no other way of life.’
‘Your Majesty. We were at a crossroads in history after the Japanese war and, next year, we will be at yet another, certainly as far as our beloved land is concerned. After the war we took the wrong turning. Or put it this way: the world needed a purge but, instead of voiding only the dross, voided its heart and soul at the same time. I pray that we take the correct path at the crossroads next year.’ He paused, collected his thoughts and continued. ‘Maybe we were too young or too tired after the war, or too blind to see where to go twenty-nine years ago. For me the crisis was revealed at Ban Liet in …’ And he paused again, this time for longer.
‘I never knew quite what happened, Your Holiness,’ the King gently intervened. ‘You have always been reticent about it yet involved you were. Can you enlighten me? It might somehow bear some relevance to my present worries.’
The Chief Bonze collected his thoughts and told him the whole story. His memory was faultless: a massacre outside his wat by Communist fanatics in late 1945, five young boys, one a Thai named Mana Varamit who disappeared, and his prophesy. My words come back to me: “I see right not left, blue not red, white not brown as being essential to and in sympathy with the quest for salvation. But above all I see delusion, pain, suffering and great hardship. Thirty agonising years will elapse before the time is ripe for anything that I have read in the divinations to be pronounced true. Patience and stealth will be the watchwords. Much is still obscure and, hate to say it though I do, one amongst you will betray the others. But salvation will be reached: however, the sixty-year cycle will have to run its course before true and lasting salvation is obtained because, in the first thirty years, evil will be in the ascendancy.”’
Silence reigned for a while before the King asked ‘Who did you see as a probable bringer of redemption? How did you envisage the white not brown, the blue not red, west not east? Of course, divinations are, to a great extent, symbolic. How did you see your prophesy actually working out, or couldn’t you see so far ahead all that clearly?’
‘I accept your implications, Your Majesty. To be truthful, I would have to say I didn’t but I have enough faith to say I’d recognise the portents when revealed.’
‘H’m, but the four little boys and the fifth who ran away. Where are they now?’
‘The four are in the guise of working for the opposition, if I can use that phrase. They seek the moment of retribution before their redemption. As for the fifth, the wayward, he has taken the worst path possible – to betray those who feel betrayed. He, too, as far as I know, is somewhere in the other part of your realm.’
‘Your Holiness. As we know each other so well, I accepted the message given to you, my brother and sister-in-law from the English Colonel. It is not in my nature to dispute anything that you say but the ring the Englishman showed me last night, can you give me your version of how that ties up with those far-off days? I talked with him and he told me much that was new to me but I’d like to have some background to his story to corroborate it.’
So the Chief Bonze told the King that part of the story that concerned Leuam Sunthorn, his relationship with the British and, as best he remembered it, the incident in the Malaysian jungle when Rance, Mana Varamit and Le Dâng Khoã were involved, even the bit about Le Dâng Khoã giving Colonel Rance his ring.
The King nodded in understanding. ‘The Englishman, so that’s how he fits in. In the modern idiom, I can see how it can be he, the colours referring to his skin and his politics, with the direction referring to the non-communist world. And, Your Holiness, the thirty-year and the sixty-year cycle is fully understood by him also.’
‘Indeed, it is, Your Majesty. It is that one crucial point that has concerned him since he has met all of, shall I coin a phrase, the Four Rings, since he has been here.’
There was a long, long pause and, with a look of ineffable sadness, His Majesty, King Savang Vatthana, said, ‘Now I understand. He has got himself enmeshed with our problems in a way I would never have credited. Let us hope he emerges from them unscathed … What a story! Indeed, truth is stranger than fiction.’
Brigadier General Etam had given Mango’s report and request a great deal of thought. He had arranged that Major Vong bring Tâ Tran Quán to his house the following evening, after dark. He had sat them down and made them comfortable. Little by little he had let them know how much he knew.
‘I hear, Tan Tâ, that the Englishman, Colonel Rance, had a long conversation with you.’ As it was not a question there was no need for an answer. Tâ started impassively at the General, who continued, ‘It seems that somehow he convinced you to go to Ban Ban to recapture somebody. How was this?’ The question had to be answered. It was one he had been expecting.
‘Tan General. You must understand my position. I am your guest,’ he stressed the word “guest”. ‘It is incumbent on me to talk to any and everybody I am ordered to. It was some time ago that the English Colonel came to see me in Phone Kheng. Major Vong was there the whole time.’ Vong nodded agreement. ‘We talked about tactics but I could not help him much. The next time I saw him was the other day. No one ever sees me without clearance from your staff, General. I have no idea why you chose him to talk to me rather than so many of the others who have been sent to see me since I was wounded. The English Colonel gave me a proposition. I presumed it was yours to start with but, for reasons yet known to me, you chose Colonel Rance to put it to me. The proposition came as a veiled order and put in a way I could scarcely refuse. Perhaps, General, you would pardon the impertinence and let me know why you sent the Englishman to talk to me in the first place?’
It was neatly done and General Etam knew it, as indeed did Tâ. Major Vong was obviously mystified. It was then for the General to take the conversational initiative, the upshot of which Mango got his telephone call of agreement the next morning and Gordon Parks his only a few minutes later.
‘Sit down, Jason. I’ve news for you and I expect you haven’t come empty-handed to me. You never seem to so why start now?’ Gordon Parks told Rance the latest situation as regards recovering Mana: Tâ and Vong, the Tai Dam Major, and four men, a total of six, would fly to Bouam Long and be launched on the 9th. They and an escort from Bouam Long would veer east and approach Ban Ban from the Sam Neua side but that part of the business was being left to them. Back-up, in the shape of operational and administrative requirements, was being jacked up by the CIA and the Lao Intelligence Chief. The security aspect had been more rigorously stressed and the cover story was Mana was a returning US agent, on the run, who had become somehow enmeshed and detained at Ban Ban. It was thought that he was ill but unsuspected.
‘Gordon, I interrupt here. I have a message from Thong to Tâ.’ Gordon Parks hid his surprise. The British DA had an extraordinary habit of successfully trawling in opposition waters with seemingly little effort and no pre-planning. Rance then told him of his latest LPF encounter.
‘But this is suicide, Jason. Wouldn’t Tâ be more useful with us, being interrogated in depth and used for his expert knowledge and understanding of opposition personalities? It seems such a pity to waste both him and what you can do with him.’
‘This is a most difficult problem, Gordon. I doubt we’ll ever get such a man on our side again but how willing has he been in interrogations et cetera to date? Don’t forget it is only my particular relationship with him that has made him appear so willing. I have no doubt that he is a genuinely dedicated mole. If we can get him back into the guts of the opposition and, always provided he is accepted back, he can get into a position of being used by them against us, against the Vientiane side that is, and has lines open through the other three Rings who can still contact us – isn’t that a situation that could pay greater dividends? Here external influences will play less and less of a role and, if ever Communism is to be beaten, it can only be really and properly beaten by internal implosion, the edifice collapsing on itself, rather than by any other means. The Vietnamese are the master Indo-China race, always have been, always will be. Geography will win out because it can’t be changed. History can do things neither geography nor we do-gooders can. My gut feeling is to take the risk of getting him back in, great though the risks for him are.’
Gordon Parks nodded slowly. ‘You’ll have to talk to him, Jason. I’ll fix that. Now that I’ve knowledge of the party’s composition and General Etam is in on it, you may have a larger audience than you had before.’
‘H’m. I’d prefer Tâ on his own if you can arrange it. In any case the smaller the audience the happier I am and the fewer people to spill the beans through careless talk or bloody mindedness.’
‘I’ll see what I can do. What else have you, Jason? I can’t believe you’ve picked up nothing else.’ Gordon Parks was not really being sarcastic but even he was scarcely able to credit that Rance had had an audience with the King. Rance spelled it out in great detail, only omitting his brief entanglement with Princess Golden Fairy. The stenographer took both reports down, the secret audience with the King and the contact with Thong Damdouane: they made as full and interesting a report as John Chambers and Maurice Burke had received in a long time.
Rance was able to see Tâ Tran Quán only once more before his departure for Ban Ban. It had been felt by General Etam, who vetted Attachés’ movements to sensitive areas and who under normal circumstances would have welcomed Rance’s presence in Bouam Long, that it were better to allow nothing of a coincidental nature during the sensitive stage. A meeting, less secretive than the last time, was arranged at the same office in Phone Kheng as the first time Rance had met Tâ. Major Vong was present. He somehow sensed Rance and Tâ had more between them than would normally be the case but also being on the fringe of the twilight intelligence world, understood there were many things he could never understand. This was one of them. He himself was pining for action, being of war-like stock and, having no hope of ever returning to his beloved natal place, was more than content to prevent as many of the other side from ever returning to theirs. He was one of the school who thought that, while being glorious to die for your country, it was far more glorious to make the other man die for his – a sentiment fully shared by Rance.
After greetings, Rance asked Tâ how matters had developed since their last meeting. ‘Are you still of like mind?’
‘Indeed I am,’ answered Tâ gravely. ‘I am also glad that I have Major Vong here to be with me. I have developed a healthy respect for him since we were thrown together.’
‘It’s just as well I don’t know what you are doing in detail as it means I can give nothing away by any indication but,’ pointing to a map of Laos hanging at the far end of the wall, ‘could you, Major, show me in outline how you propose to tackle this problem? It is purely for professional interest only.’
As the Major walked over to the wall map, Rance whispered, ‘I met Thong six days ago. He knows of the plan. He gave you this mes …’ Major Vong had reached the map and, picking up a pointer, was about to begin his delivery.
‘We fly into Bouam Long of Saturday, the 9th. That’s D-Day. We go in as civilians. We propose to leave that afternoon and two or possibly three days later approach Ban Ban from the Sam Neua direction by Route 6, to be exact it is numbered 61 there. My thoughts are that we arrive on foot at last light. I know Ban Ban from old but there may be differences that I have yet to learn about so I have asked for an overflight for an up-to-date aerial photograph. I may be able to pick up some tips on our way there. Mana may be anywhere but, using bluff, I propose we get escorted to where he is. If the authorities cavil at our unusual timings, Tâ will pull rank and explain our vehicle has broken down a few kilometres up the road about here,’ and he turned and peered at the map, looking for area intently. As he did, Rance continued speaking to Tâ, urgently.
‘The message was to swap with Mana.’
‘Just about here,’ said Major Vong, turning back to face them.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Rance, ‘but I didn’t quite see. Please show me again.’
Major Vong turned, thinking his pointer might have slipped, as Rance said, ‘and he’ll meet you in Sam Neua or Office 95 when he can.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ said Major Vong, turning back. ‘Did you say Sam Neua or Office 95?’
‘Yes, I did. I merely said to Tan Tâ here that maybe the authorities would try and get in touch with one or both of those locations.’
‘From what I know of them, I can’t see them trying anything at night. It may be that the generator will be started for emergency communications. One of my group will have, among his other toys, plastic explosive and will either try to talk to the operators in Sam Neua or blow the thing up. I’m looking at that side of the business and will decided on what to do once we are there. It may be difficult getting Mana out of the camp with seven men, not six but …’
He broke off as Tâ interrupted him. ‘I’ll swap with Mana. I’m blown anyway. I can do to them what they’re trying to do to us, hoodwink and seduce. Let me pretend that you are a party of like-minded men who have found out who I am, that I had lost my mind, forgotten my identity – my new papers will prove that – and wandered into Bouam Long. There you, pro-LPF agents, hoodwinked the Irregulars and got me back to Ban Ban. I already know when and how to deflect Communist tactics. No, wait one, please,’ he held up a restraining hand to Vong. ‘You have proof of my intentions and integrity in my accepting this mission. I now know the other side of the story.’ His face was intense with pleading. ‘If I were still a stooge, I could so easily ditch you there, couldn’t I?’ Not waiting for an answer, ‘Of course I could. Even now, I could be putting my head on a platter. Doesn’t that prove how sincere I am? If you don’t believe that, I’ll refuse to go and that won’t be popular now.’
He paused, more for breath than because he had run out of things to say. He turned to Rance and, as Vong could not see him, winked. ‘You believe me, Tan Colonen, don’t you?’
‘Ye-es, Yes, I do, Tan Tâ. It is a brave thing you’re doing and I believe you are a hero.’
‘Hero.’ Tâ spat the word out. ‘Believe what you like. There are no medals in this game. And, Major Vong, I need you cooperation. During the snatch of Mana, you’ll have to make certain sure that the others, the LPF, are not there. You’ll have to keep them quiet. You’ll also need to take some dope, I’ve heard mention of Scopolamine I think it is, and give me a jab. That’ll put me out and take time to wear off. That’s my cover plan for re-entry into their rotten system, on my terms.’ He shifted in his chair and then, ‘Oh yes. One more thought. I need to learn some medical terms to make the Political Commissar in Ban Ban think I am genuine.’
Bouam Long was an enclave deep inside Communist-dominated territory, a series of Meo villages joined into one fortified base and garrisoned by Irregular troops. There was a small landing strip of red gravel but, being 4000 feet up in the mountains, certain weather problems of turbulence made its use tricky. Surrounding the enclave were thick strands of wire and a series of observation posts and defensive positions. Gruesome relics of the last determined NVA attack still draped the wire in some places; skeletons, tattered bits of clothing and old pieces of equipment, awesome travesties of scarecrows. Beyond the wire, outside the enclave but reaching almost up to the rim of the defensive positions, were countless large bomb craters that bore mute testimony of the efficacy of aerial power used with pin-point precision. No troops in the world could stand firm against such an onslaught and the peasants of Uncle Ho’s army were no exception.
Around the centrally-situated airstrip the ground rose steeply. Dug deep inside one of the hills were headquarters of the military unit commanding the enclave, the place whence strict orders for the two Irregular battalions emanated and wherein records were maintained and plans prepared both for their own military activities and, as far as possible, those of their enemies. On the morning of Saturday, 9 March, a balding, hard-faced Meo Major of Irregulars was in conference with his subordinates. He was the overall Garrison Commander.
‘We’ve got a Continental Airways Twin Otter coming in later on. I gather it has a strange cargo, or rather the cargo is normal men but they’re shrouded in secrecy – not that anyone can keep a secret here. They say that they are a party going on a hush-hush mission to Ban Ban to meet some LPF officials. It might have something to do with the status of this enclave after the next stage of political wrangling but the area of Bouam Long is so well known that I can only presume it is to stop the LPF from using their nibbling tactics, but that’s pure guesswork. It may be that they’re going to meet up with a party of LPF from Sam Neua or even Hanoi. I know nothing except that it is none of our business.
‘Apart from the crew, the party consists of six men. There will be some stores on the plane for us as well as for them. I gather that the party will be away for anything up to two weeks. They will take an escort from here and may need helping out during their return. To this end, the camp will be on first-stage alert during the time they are away. My orders, that came in by the last courier, stress that the garrison is to be told that we can expect retaliatory action by LPF but we are to initiate no activity ourselves that could be construed as being counter to the ceasefire protocols – though what they,’ and he gestured with his head towards the east as he said it, ‘have been doing these last few months has hardly been conducive to peaceful relations. In fact, we have been quiet recently so I’m not going to mention anything about retaliation in any orders I subsequently give. Neither will you.
‘When the plane arrives, action normal. Sentries will be out. I will meet the party and bring them here. I will establish any particular requirements they may have and then let them carry on with their task.’
He looked around the crude table, made from packing cases, at the hardy, tough, expectant faces. Apart from the two Battalion Commanders, a staff officer, a logistics expert, the escort commander and a communications man were present, every one of them campaign-tested and two of them had been on courses in the States. ‘Any questions?’
‘Will they need escorting all or only part of the way?’ asked the escort commander. ‘I have given provisional orders for a platoon to be ready for ten days.’
‘A squad, not a platoon. Go yourself and have with you any of your men who have relatives in the Ban Ban area.’
‘Will they bring a radio with them and have to be netted into our frequencies?’ asked the communicator.
‘Nothing about it in my orders. Apart from that, be prepared to give them any help they may need.’ He turned to the escort commander. ‘Unless you are in an emergency, you will observe radio silence. We are still not sure how much monitoring the Cubans are doing for our fellow countrymen.’
There were no more questions. ‘They’ll be flying in along the normal circuitous route so expect nothing,’ he glanced at this watch, ‘for another couple of hours.’
With that, they departed.
Shortly after noon the Twin Otter arrived. It taxied to the dispersal area and cut its engines. Six men got out and a crewman helped them with some sacks. A folding stretcher was among the kit. The Garrison Commander went up to the group, who were dressed in plain clothes. ‘Welcome to Bouam Long. I am the Garrison Commander here. Is there anything I can do for you right now before we go and have a talk?’
A thick-set, burly thug answered. ‘Thanks. I am Major Vong and this is my gang.’ He made no attempt to introduce his team who looked equally tough except for one who was a paler, non-military type and less fit-looking man who could have been a Vietnamese. This man seemed totally withdrawn into himself. A meeting with the LPF? the Garrison Commander mused. On whose terms, I wonder?
He took them off to his underground command post and produced coffee for them. After they had settled themselves comfortably, he rehearsed what orders he had had. Major Vong nodded his agreement. ‘That’s about the sum of it. It’ll be plain sailing going out but could be rough on the way back if they lose their tempers! You have our outline programme? Leave today and hopefully be back on the 17th or 18th. If we abort, it may be before then. It may even be later. We’re wearing plain clothes now and we’ll change into our other clothes nearer the time. Which one of you is the escort commander? Please make sure you have a couple of men who know Ban Ban. Better still if they have relatives in the village or neighbouring hamlets. I want them to be dressed as though they had been out hunting or something similar that will not arouse suspicions. You’ve already got them detailed?’ in answer to a gesture from the escort commander. ‘The rest of the escort will have to lie up while we’re negotiating. I’ll give orders for what we need nearer the time. I don’t expect anything drastic but, to be on the safe side, I hope you’ve got some tough cookies lined up!’
The Garrison Commander listened impassively. ‘Do you need any intercom facility?’
‘We have our own and will net in with you before we leave. I propose radio silence to start with.’ The escort commander nodded agreement. ‘Apart from that, my only need is the way out clear of any patrol or minefield and an exact knowledge of how to get back in – just in case we get separated. On our way back we may make contact with you before dark,’ this to the Garrison Commander, ‘and ask for the rest of the party to be allowed in after nightfall. I’m sorry to be a nuisance if that is against your Standing Operational Procedures but the people in Vientiane told me to fix those details directly with you.’
They talked for a while longer and then Major Vong looked at his watch. ‘Time to be on our way. Let us start six zero minutes from now.’
‘One last point: password and countersign?’
‘Something easy to remember and innocuous. Something your soldiers will find comes naturally to them.’
‘In that case, let us say that the password is ‘One more forest’ and the countersign is ‘One less tree’.
In any army, certain set types of man will be found and the most rare is probably the professional killer. Some join because the life attracts them, a life of no responsibility, merely taking orders and being fed, clothed and paid. Some join out of a sense of adventure and travel, some even because they have been ordered to by hard-up parents, others, especially in Communist-inspired guerilla armies, out of fear of reprisals to their family if they do not throw their lot in with the bully boys in uniform. There is another rare class of man who joins because he finds solace in bugle and camp as indeed others similarly disposed find peace in bell and cloister. In every army, the bully and barrack-room lawyer will be found as well as the one in every twenty or thirty who wishes he had never joined and cannot find a way out. Of the six men who were on this mission, Major Vong could be described as the professional’s professional. Combat-seasoned, highly trained and dedicated to a remarkable degree, he was a natural. Tâ Tran Quán was a soldier of faith, a man with a lifetime mission, a crusader. If what he had to do, however unpleasant, helped his Cause, then so be it. The other four were tough, battle-inoculated men who knew there would never be any peace for them if the Communists came to power. They were good at close-combat work, adept with knife and rope, and had a knowledge of demolitions. They were physically fit. They were not volunteers for this particular mission; they were volunteers for any such mission. They had one thing in common; their homes had been overrun by the Communists and they could never return to their nearest and dearest – ‘180 degrees’ different from the sad, press-ganged peasants that made up the army of those venal robber-barons posing as Generals in the Royal Lao Army. Vong had collected his team with intelligence and skill. He knew that his mission was tight-rope fraught.
The journey to Ban Ban was a cautious affair. Not only was there the imperative necessity to remain completely hidden but also any traces that the group made had either to be eradicated or made to seem as though locals had been responsible for them. Initially, the men were virtually on home ground, certainly until the first evening, and this gave them a chance to practise their jungle movement without much fear of being discovered. Major Vong was a tower of strength. He was obviously no stranger to jungle conditions and he had the happy knack of impressing his personality on the escort to the extent that they accepted his strictures when they moved clumsily.
Once over the high ground surrounding Bouam Long, their track led them downhill. That first night they made camp near a stream. They scouted around to see if there was any NVA or LPF movement before tying groundsheets to stakes to keep off the dew. They collected firewood and cooked themselves a modest meal before dusk. After washing up their cooking pots and mess tins, they held a council of war before turning in for the night.
‘Up in the fortress one of your men said he had recently travelled to Ban Ban. Which one is he?’ Vong asked the escort commander.
The man was sent for and Vong questioned him carefully. Their main worry was unexpectedly meeting a group of people from the other side. To obviate against any danger that might arise, it was decided to move in two groups, some fifty or so metres apart when visibility allowed. If the group in front did stumble across any enemy, they could explain their presence as best they could. To this end, three men were detailed to wear plain clothes and to carry weapons – not an uncommon phenomenon in a country where boredom, banditry and shortage of rations resulted in a number of strangely dressed people to be found in areas outside villages as they looked for something to do, someone to rob or something to eat. The special clothes, LPF-style uniform, of the leading group, would be carried by the rest of the team, whose other task would be to try and obviate any telltale marks.
They spent a comfortable enough night, Tâ sleeping on the stretcher, reasonably free from insects. Sentries were not posted as, so Vong’s reasoning went, they would not keep awake with no immediate danger and, if it were too difficult for their group to move at night, it would probably be too difficult for anyone else to.
The second day was a repetition of the first, only longer, more tiring and getting warmer as their route took them from the mountains to the plains. Vong realised that Tâ was tiring but he did not dare let up. By 4 o’clock that evening, everybody had walked far enough. They decided to make camp near the first running water they found. As the squad was checking the area and preparing camp, Tâ took his footwear off and bathed his sore feet.
‘How are you, Tâ?’ Vong asked solicitously. ‘Bearing up?’
‘I’ve got to. I must,’ Tâ answered gravely. ‘Today has been hard. Tell me how you see us progressing from here.’
‘Tomorrow is the 11th of March. We will hit an old French-built road in the morning and follow that. Depending on our speed, obviously, I will make up my mind where to lie up. I’d like to reach here,’ and he showed Tâ where he referred to on his map. ‘Sometime in the small hours of Tuesday morning we should have reached Route 61, the Sam Neua-Muong Peon-Ban Ban road. Near to where I expect we’ll hit the road is our guide’s village, still more or less intact. He has a pretty good idea of where we can hide up. All Wednesday he and a friend will patrol from there to Ban Ban, trying to find out any info that could help us at the last minute. You, my friend, will lie up and rest. We’ll get your shirt and underpants laundered and dried so that, when we eventually get into Ban Ban, there are no traces of what we’ve been through.
‘Then, on the Thursday, timings later but towards evening we move. By then, my friend, we will have rested up, have had the latest news – hopefully – and will be ready to meet our challenge.’
‘You’re a good man, Vong. Under different circumstances there’s no telling what we wouldn’t have done together. Have you got a pin? I need to prick a blister.’
They moved off shortly after dawn and, by 10 o’clock, reached the outer edge of the cultivated land that from the now on would be a constant feature up to Ban Ban. Soon after, they met the road that was more a wide, overgrown trail than a motor road. They decided to risk walking along it as the going was so much easier. They kept their eyes skinned for signs of others in the area.
Towards evening, they rested up for a couple of hours in a small hut used, during the rice harvest, for accommodating the harvesters so saving them a journey to and from their main settlement. Before moving off, they cooked themselves another meal. Vong had taken the precaution of providing enough string to tie themselves together so, with torches that had a thin green leaf tucked behind the glass, they could walk during the night. These preparations were obvious ones, although the risk of dogs barking and so alerting people had to be taken.
Some three hours’ walk from Ban Ban, the guide took them due east, away from the road, and after crossing a tributary of the River Nam, brought them, in the small hours, to Route 61, the road that would take them to Ban Ban. The guide told them to wait while he went to reconnoitre. He faded into the night and the others, except Vong, thankfully sank to the ground and dropped off to sleep.
Tâ was woken by Vong. ‘Up you get, we’re off again,’ he said softly.
Tâ clambered slowly and stiffly to his feet. He finished off the contents of his water bottle and followed the shadowy figure in front of him. There was no need for the string to be tied as there was now enough residual starlight to see by. Thankfully, twenty minutes later, the leading scout stopped and the others bumped together. ‘We’re here,’ Vong whispered to Tâ. The place was an old dwelling, scarcely a house, built on stilts, set in a clump of custard apple trees, the result of some pre-war French attempt to encourage orchards for cash crops. Even had it been light enough to see them, they were of no interest to Tâ who, in a short time after the group reached the hide-out, was blissfully asleep on the stretcher.
Next morning the two men with relatives in the Ban Ban area left and returned late that evening. It so happened that the mother-in-law of the elder lived not far from the clinic run by the camp doctor and his wife. The sister-in-law’s cousin also happened to have a bad stomach and had been to the clinic for treatment. Whilst waiting his turn, he had overheard the doctor telling his wife that he would have to cancel the Friday clinic as doctors from Hanoi were coming to see, and here he had tapped his head, in the camp. After getting his tablets, the man called in to see his cousin. The two-man team, having a meal in the kitchen, also overheard the conversation and, at an appropriate moment, left for their temporary base as fast as they could. They told Vong to tell Tâ. They then went into a huddle to try and solve what was essentially a time and space problem.
The six men had prepared themselves before leaving the escort party. Three of them had green PL uniform and the other three blue. A casual observer would have noticed no difference in Tâ‘s mien but Vong sensed an inner tension and an inner fortitude. Despite trusting Tâ not going to double cross them, he was ever suspicious, had his own plans for that eventuality. He patted his pistol unconsciously as he stole a glance at the others who looked the part they had to play.
The two scouts had done their work well and saved the group much bother. Due to set off at half past 5 in the evening of Thursday, 14 March, they had eaten before they left but, tense with excitement, forced the food down. Even if their presence was noticed, the villagers paid no attention to yet another group of uniformed men walking down the road. Darkness fell. At one point, Major Vong, ears sharper than the others’, pulled them into the undergrowth as a patrol of soldiers came from the other direction. Back on the road, they continued their journey, having first cached the stretcher.
The camp came into sight. They automatically stopped. Vong briefly told the others what to expect then he and Tâ shook hands. ‘Thank you, Vong, for being a friend as well as an escort. You have done much to restore my faith in humankind.’
‘Goodbye, Tâ. You’re a brave man. I hope we meet again.’
At the camp entrance, the sentry challenged them. He had not been alerted for anybody at this time of night. He called the Guard Commander.
‘Listen, my good man,’ said Tâ, when the first sign of stubbornness was obvious, ‘I am Doctor Tanh Bên Lòng. I have been sent on a delicate medical mission. We should have been here hours ago but our transport broke down some distance away, about five kilometres. I’ll need a mechanic tomorrow or else send for an aeroplane. Go and send someone immediately to the Commanding Officer and tell him I am here. Have you got the name? No? How dare you forget it so quickly! Listen – Dr. Tanh Bên Lòng. Say it back to me … once more,’ commanded Tâ, in a virtuoso performance. The other five members of the team were listening to a Tâ they had not previously met.
At this display of authority, the Guard Commander had adopted the position of attention. ‘Well, Comrade,’ continued Tâ, ‘off you go and carry out my orders – send a soldier if you must stay here yourself.’ The Guard Commander moved away but was roughly called back by Tâ. ‘Aren’t you going to let us sit down until the Commanding Officer comes to fetch us?’
A shame-faced and cowed Guard Commander invited them into the guardroom and offered them a bench, the only one there was, to sit on. A soldier was sent at full speed and the group waited, feigning impatience. As they waited, they studied the layout. ‘How many men do you have on duty here?’ Vong asked casually.
‘Myself and six soldiers, Comrade,’ answered the Guard Commander, glancing up at Vong who smiled in appreciation. Feeling encouraged and wishing to eradicate, as far as possible, any adverse opinion he might have let himself for, he started telling Vong about his duties in great detail.
At about the same time that evening, there was one more report left to be read by Nga Sô Lựự. Normally communications were slow but the date on each, as he glanced at the franking stamp on the envelope, was recent. He was in a hurry to go across to talk with the team that was flying in to Ban Ban on the morrow but they would have to wait a little longer.
The report was compulsive reading and his black eyes glinted more glassily than usual. It was sent from Luang Prabang where Comrade Thong Damdouane had unearthed something of great importance. He read it through twice, slowly and carefully. During the festivities over the period of the royal wedding – a shudder ran through the reader – some of the GHQ hierarchy had been too talkative. It appeared that Comrade Tâ Tran Quán, once thought to be dead, was alive but in dubious health. He had been in the hands of the right-wing clique but had never given up hope of returning to his beloved party. He had contrived, quite how had yet to be established, to get some papers, personal documents, but probably not in his own name. It looked as though he had forgotten his real name. He could even be mentally ill. He had escaped, again the details were exceedingly vague – or just that the garrulous General Staff had not bothered to expose their lack of vigilance – he had been so intent on rejoining the Movement, he had wandered, by himself, into the Liberated Zone. The writer was sorry not to have more facts but he believed that Tâ had made his bid for escape a few weeks previously. What concerned him about Comrade Tâ was that he might do himself a damage or be mistakenly thought of as an imposter by anyone who picked him up. His mental state was probably caused by worry, not wounds. It was rumoured that he believed himself to be a doctor but, on that score, no one was certain. If, Thong Damdouane finished, Comrade Tâ Tran Quán was found, as an old friend, he hoped that they would be allowed to meet. It would be therapeutic.
How wonderful, thought Nga Sô Lựự, showing a rare smile, if the lost comrade did return.
The member of the guard who had been detailed to go and tell his superiors about the unexpected visitors, hurried down the centre road that divided the camp. On his left was the hospital where that strange, wandering comrade was billeted. Some said he was fey, other that he was crazed. He himself doubted it. Fed up with the war and of being in the army and not allowed to go back home. Enough to send a fellow off his rocker. His steps led him past the main office and to the small accommodation area where the Vietnamese ‘elder brothers’ would take their ease and prepare their daily indoctrination lectures. Now they were boring. Endlessly repetitious but one simply dare not listen. On to you like a ton of bricks. Only sometimes was there something new, like when this crazed comrade, the fellow who was working his ticket, was brought in. Suffered at the hands of the imperialists, feudalists and fascists, so they were told. He shuddered. Any one of those three was bad enough but all three at once was enough to send a bloke bonkers. Worse than this lot, he thought derogatorily. He had reached the hut where his Commanding Officer lived and knocked on the door. He rehearsed the name he had been given. He was but a simple Lao peasant, not cut out for the subtleties and complexities of the situation, like many other simple Lao peasants who only asked to be left in peace at home.
‘Who’s that outside? What do you want?’
‘Comrade Commanding Officer. I am a camp sentry. The Guard Commander has sent me with a message. Shall I come in and deliver it or will you come outside?’
He was called inside the simply furnished room which boasted a wooden bed, a table, two chairs and a wardrobe. The Commanding Officer sighed. ‘Well, what is it?’
The sentry saluted in the open doorway. ‘Six men are at the guardroom. Come from Sam Neua on some medical job. Car broken down. Walked the last bit.’
‘Six men … Say that again, Comrade.’ Such a message was most unusual and needed time for reflection. It was repeated, with the sentry adding, ‘The comrade said he was Dr. Tanh Bên Lòng.’ Gosh, but he’d nearly forgotten that bit. ‘He said you had to be told about it, immediately. He seemed angry.’
The CO was not at his brightest. ‘Dr. Who?’ he demanded querulously. The sentry repeated it, proud that he’d got it right twice running. ‘Go and call the Political Commissar. He’s in the hut nearest the river, then come back.’
Doing as bid, the sentry walked the twenty paces to the end hut, one similar to that of the CO. He again knocked on the door and called out, ‘Comrade Political Commissar. Excuse me but the Comrade CO has told me to ask would you go and see him here and now.’
‘Tell him I’m on my way.’ The Political Commissar also sighed as he put his shirt on, slipped his feet into his flip-flops and hurried out into the night. He knocked on the CO’s door and went straight in, unbidden, the knock only a formality. ‘What do you want me for?’
The CO stood up. ‘I’m so sorry to disturb you but this is important. You know, as indeed do I, that we are expecting a couple of high-ranking doctors with an escort to come tomorrow as ever is, 15 March, Friday, to look at Comrade Mana. I have just been told by the sentry that a party of six men, just as we are expecting, have arrived at the main gate. They are there now. Why, I wonder, are they so early? Their vehicle has broken down somewhere a few kilometres up the road and they walked in here. But they were due to come by air.’ The CO sounded aggrieved. ‘We must look after them, yet, I ask you again, why the change in programme without our being told?’
‘Well, I’ve certainly heard nothing different. What are their names? Did the sentry check their documents?’
‘Did you check their documents, lad?’ the CO asked gruffly, wishing that he had remembered to ask that question himself.
The young sentry shook his head. ‘I was merely given this message. I’m not on duty and was inside.’
‘The name of the doctor, according to the sentry, is Tanh Bên Lòng. I have never heard of him, have you?’
And then it struck the Political Commissar that the neurologist was operating under the code name he had been told about when he was at that meeting in Office 95. ‘Yes, I’ve had forewarning that they might present themselves like this,’ he answered, embroidering slightly on what he had been told but confident that the CO would be none the wiser. Nevertheless, it was vexing not to know about this change of timings.
‘We’d better get dressed and go and welcome them. They’ll be in need of a meal and a wash, I expect. They won’t want to start work tonight. Meet you here in five minutes. There’s no need to alert the cooks until we know more about their wants.’
That evening the pretty nurse visited Mana Varamit. She took his temperature and talked a while. As she left him she said, ‘Chok Di,’ for his good luck for the examination in the morning.
Mana lay back on his bed. Why were those words so familiar? And then his mind gave a jump and he remembered a large place with hills all round, and an airstrip, and some medium artillery. Where was it? Why was it trying to ring a bell? There was a hurricane lantern on the table near his bed. A large black insect, attracted by the light, flew into the room and buzzed angrily and noisily around it. In his mind’s eye the room grew lighter and lighter, and the beetle flew higher and higher and made more and more of a whining note and there was the black Jet Ranger flying round and round over him as he went forward along Skyline Ridge, leading his troops, he Major Chok Di of the Thai Unity Forces. That was it. She was calling him by a name he had had. But why had he had it? That lamp hurt his eyes. He got off his bed and blew it out. He shut his eyes and shook his head. The insect, deprived of its magnet, flew away. He heard footsteps outside on the road that ran through the middle of the camp. Someone was going towards the officers’ quarters. He felt lonely. Chok Di. Not Le Dâng Khoã …
… there were trees on Skyline Ridge, thick trees but how could he see the Jet Ranger if there were trees? His head whirled. Here were no trees and yet it was dark, like it was now, almost. He hears a voice call him, ‘I cannot accept your behaviour. Whatever you did in Vietnam is over and done with. I’m not interested in who started this, only that it ends peaceably. Offer your hand,’ and he felt a great weakness as the machete someone was holding ready to chop him was taken away. ‘Sergeant Major Pracham.’ Who said that? Not Le Dâng Khoã. He was crouching there with his back to that big tree, a look in his eyes. Or was it near Pleku, or Danang, or Nha Trang? Or was it …? But there were no trees on Skyline Ridge. And then there was someone coming towards him, and he was going towards someone, faster and faster, nearer and nearer. He grabbed the side of the bed and the vision faded. He heard the footsteps going up the road. Movement: who was going where? Someone was coming towards him, he could almost see the face. ‘I’ll get you, you treacherous sod. I’ll make sure you don’t get away this time.’ Where’s my weapon, was it pistol or carbine? He searched frantically for it under his pillow, weeping with frustration as he groped in vain.
In the guardroom, the CO and the Political Commissar looked at the six men. The latter took the initiative and after introducing himself and the CO said, primly, ‘We were not expecting you until tomorrow. Can you explain why you have not kept to the programme? I find this highly irregular.’
The man who called himself Dr. Tanh Bên Lòng drew himself up stiffly and, in an icy tone of voice, said, ‘It is not up to you to doubt my orders. I’ll have you know I am a busy man. I have been given this assignment and I am late. I am used to having fraternal civilities extended to me, not this carping effrontery. I should have examined Comrade Mana Varamit this afternoon. Those were my instructions: the afternoon of Thursday, 14 March. I want, and will have, an inspection now. Show me where he is. I have his records here with me. After my inspection, I will come and join you in some refreshment – coffee is my preference. My team will remain with me until I meet you wherever your eating place happens to be. I’ll then have a wash and spend the night here, only returning tomorrow. We will discuss those details later. Is that understood?’
There was something vaguely familiar about the speaker that the Political Commissar could not place. There was no doubting his authority. Only the most favoured were as sure of themselves as that.
‘Yes, Comrade Doctor. As you wish, as you wish. Any irregularities in the programme can, I am sure, be explained. If there is anything else I can do for you, please do not hesitate to tell me.’
Comrade Doctor Tanh Bên Lòng looked at his watch. ‘In a way I am glad we are here only at this time.’ The unexpected doctor started telling them about his treatment, leaving the two senior comrades gasping: Lobus occipitalis and temporalis … the cortex and connecting fibres of the corpus callosum … the hippocampus and mammillary bodies and fornix are damaged so amnesia stagnate so causing mental aphasia … until both were utterly lost and bewildered. There was no doubting the Comrade Doctor’s unrivalled knowledge.
‘The new therapy works better at night. It is now 1955 hours. You will take me to where Mana is. You will not come in with me. You will give orders that your generator will operate from, say, 2050 to 2015. You will then turn it off. I will have no further use for it. You can expect us to join you soon afterwards. Part of Comrade Mana’s shock therapy must be done in the dark. The rest we will do tomorrow before we go. I hope that is clear.’
There were unusual orders, but again, some of these specialists were divas. ‘I’ll point out where we’ll be as we escort you down the road. If you want the lights on as stated then I must quickly give executive orders. Everything shall be as you have ordered.’ Then, as an afterthought, the CO added, ‘Do you want us to fetch the camp doctor?’
As they went in a bunch towards the isolation ward of the hospital and there was no answer, the Political Commissar could only presume that the neurologist had not heard the question.
Mana Varamit had found his weapon. It was on his belt. Why had he looked for it under his pillow? And then he saw the man who was coming to meet him, the man he was going to kill because he had been a treacherous sod. It was Tâ Tran Quán who was looking at him in a hurt and a surprised way so he saw Mana Varamit take aim and fire …
… there was an enormous flash and there, in front of him, Mana Varamit as he now knew himself to be, was Tâ Tran Quán looking at him with murder in his eyes. The Thai opened his mouth to scream and scream and scream but a hand was put over it and smothered any noise there might have been. He passed out in a dead faint.
‘Good work, Vong. Strip him. Then jab me,’ and, so saying, Tâ started to undress.