Cuong provided reconnaissance from the cracked-open door of the Ho Chi Minh historical site. The Chinese soldier locked in the house across the street yelled and fired sporadically as the firecrackers continued exploding in the background. It was 1:04.
Lien switched on the light and badgered Tho to pick up his moribund pace, while yelling specific instructions for Minh to stay away from the door. She also asked Cuong if he had a plan for their escape. He didn’t reply.
Tho methodically scanned his way through the foreroom with photos and historical placards describing the building’s significance. He walked into the second room. The table used by Ho Chi Minh to write the Declaration of Independence in August of 1945 sat off to the left. Tho imagined the leaders of Hanoi greeting the mysterious Ho Chin Minh around the table for the first time as he prepared to deliver the declaration in Ba Dinh Square on September 2nd of that year. Tho remembered himself as the young teen, experiencing the whisks of excitement in the air as they prepared to cast off the yoke of French colonialism. Now he stood as a messenger, searching for a link in the chain. As he swatted away the memories of that innocent young teen caught up in the revelry, Lien wrested his attention back to their current predicament.
“Tho, do you see anything?”
“No. Nothing.”
1:05
“Mr. Tho, we have to go. Minh, stay away from the door.”
“I need more time,” said Tho.
“We don’t have more time,” yelled Cuong. “The patrols are going to be here any moment, and we’re all dead if we’re caught.”
“Think Mr. Tho. Why here? Why you?”
Lien’s question struck a nerve. Why indeed? His mind suggested this house to him, but why? Historically significant places litter Hanoi. Many of them related to the Vietnamese existential struggle for independence. But his brain set upon this one. He walked into the front room again and glanced at the walls.
“Mr. Tho.”
“Patience.”
Another bullet pierced the outside of the wooden door.
1:06. The firecrackers died out. People on the street had scattered for shelter as the Chinese guard yelled like a chained up tiger, occasionally firing a warning round. Then the guard went silent. Cuong poked his head out the door. The soldier had slumped over in the locked doorway. Cuong’s compatriot stood behind him, holding a rifle, and he signaled to Cuong with two fingers.
“Mr. Tho. Aunt Lien. We have two minutes.”
“Why did the Chinese guard stop shooting?” asked Minh.
“He’s dead.”
Lien took her son’s hand and walked over to Tho, who wandered an aimless route in the middle of the room.
“Mr. Tho. We don’t have any time left. If you don’t know what you’re looking for, then let’s leave. We’ll figure out a different way.”
“Mr. Khoi.”
“What?”
“In 1946, Mr. Khoi was my professor for a year at Hanoi University.”
“Mr. Tho, why are you saying this?”
“He was a signer of the Declaration of Independence. A contemporary of Uncle Ho. And my teacher.”
“So, what does that mean?”
1:07. Cuong stepped outside the door and listened. Rumbling. He went inside.
“They’re coming.”
“Who?” asked Minh.
“The Chinese soldiers. I hear the vehicles. We have to go. Now!”
“He wasn’t a communist. And that was the key. Uncle Ho wanted a broad cross-section of ideas because he knew victory required a total effort. One ideology was insufficient. We were Vietnamese foremost and forever.”
“Mr. Tho,” Lien pleaded.
They heard a motor scooter pull up alongside the front of the house.
“Is that them?” asked Minh with terror in his voice.
“No,” said Cuong, standing in the doorway. “But they’re on the next street over. You have to go now!”
“Mr. Tho!”
“He’s the only link I have to this place.”
“Mr. Tho!”
“Lien and Minh, just leave. If the old man wants to stay, let him.” Cuong waved them onward.
“We can’t leave him.”
“You’re going to die in one minute.”
Tho had moved closer to the wall to observe a photograph in a wooden frame. Ho Chi Minh stood in the middle flanked by his first cabinet, chosen in 1945 in exile as they fought the French for independence.
“Mr. Tho!”
“That’s him, right there. Second one from the left. Nguyen Van Khoi.”
Lien grabbed Tho’s hand and pulled him in the direction of the door. He resisted for a split second and reached for the photograph and snatched it off the wall. He slid it under his arm for safe keeping and allowed Lien’s insistent tugging to win the day. They exited the house to find an idling Honda scooter.
“All of you, on the bike. Minh, you can drive?”
“Yes.”
“Cuong—“
He cut off his aunt’s questions. “This is the only way. Now!”
A Chinese patrol pulled onto the street with a megaphone pulsing out instructions. “Stay in your houses. Clear the streets. This illegal action will be punished severely.”
“What are you going to do?” Lien’s hands shook as she reached for Cuong.
“Make this worth it, Aunt Lien. Go.”
Minh, Lien, and Tho crammed together on the seat of the scooter. Tho still had the photograph tucked under his shoulder. Before Minh could leave, Cuong started running across the street to the now unlocked house when a deafening shriek rose throughout the neighborhood. Tho could feel its presence, and it appeared in bodily form, knocking Cuong to the ground.
“Go,” he yelled.
The patrol approached from the rear. Several shots fired from the house, striking Sun Quan in the back. He writhed as if in pain, but turned his back on Cuong towards the other young man standing over the dead Chinese guard. Sun Quan removed a dagger from his side sheath and threw it at Cuong’s compatriot. It struck him dead-center chest, but instead of leaving a deep incisive thud, it exploded in a force of light that vaporized the young man.
“Go!” Cuong yelled.
The young motorbike driver had been frozen in the chaos, but suddenly turned his wrist on the accelerator, and the bike jerked forward, jolting the photograph from Tho’s grasp, sending it to the pavement and shattering the glass frame.
“Stop!” yelled Tho. Minh hit the brakes, causing the momentum of Lien and Tho to push Minh against the steering column.
“Go!” yelled Cuong, who had reclaimed his footing when the patrol skidded to a stop behind him.
Sun Quan had turned when the frame fell on the ground. Tho lifted his leg over the seat and was ready to pick up the frame when the towering beast, twenty feet away, moved towards him.
The Chinese soldiers captured Cuong from behind while several more ran towards the three, telling them to put their hands up.
Sun Quan stopped them with one command. “Let them go.”
The Chinese commander stepped out from the approaching soldiers. “We have to investigate. We can’t let them go.”
Tho had frozen directly in front of Sun Quan. As the commander spoke, Tho scooped up the photograph, allowing the errant pieces of glass to fall to the pavement, and he backed up toward Minh and Lien waiting breathlessly on the scooter.
“Go!” yelled Cuong, hands bound behind him, leaning up against the patrol vehicle.
“Cuong!”
Sun Quan swung his massive left arm and smacked the Chinese commander on the side of the face, knocking him to the ground. “I said let them go.”
Minh didn’t hesitate any longer. He sped off down Hang Ngang Street and disappeared into the dark through the winding Hanoi alleyways.
The Chinese commander, unfazed by the knockdown, rose to his feet. “We’ll dispose of this rebel trash.”
“No, I need him alive.”
“But—“ The commander censored himself and covered his face with a reflexive, protective response.
While still in the building, Cuong had slipped Lien a small piece of paper with an address written on it. Lien pointed Minh down the winding alleys until she told him to stop. He turned off the bike. More patrols could be heard rumbling on the main street in close proximity. Minh pushed the motorbike behind a large tree on the side of a cement wall which hid a small courtyard. The rusty metal door swung open, and Cuong’s second accomplice waved them in.
Tho clutched the broken frame, and Lien clung onto her son’s arm with tears not far from falling.
“Where’s Cuong?” the young man asked.
“They caught him,” said Tho flatly.
“And Doan?”
“Dead,” said Lien. “Sun Quan killed him.”
The young man took a moment and rubbed his forehead. “How did you get away from Sun Quan?”
“He let us go.”
“He let you go?”
“Yes.”
“Is Cuong dead?”
The talking paused. “We don’t know,” said Lien.
“Well, did you find it? Did you get what you needed?” The young man reeked of impatience with a raw-simmering anger tucked underneath the tone of his voice.
“What’s your name?” asked Tho.
The young man laughed. The kind of uncaring laugh you might expect from a wily teenager.
“Tuan.”
“Tuan, we can’t help them now. One’s fate has been sealed. The other’s we will one day know. But for now, we have to do our best to understand the task we’ve been given.”
“Why did Sun Quan or whoever it is let you go?”
“I suspect he saw the broken frame on the ground.”
“You went there for a photograph?”
“No, no. This is what I saw when I went. A photograph of my old teacher.”
“And this is the magical photo that has killed at least one and threatened the survival of the resistance in this district. Do you understand what you’ve done?” Tuan flared in anger but kept his voice low.
“This isn’t his fault,” Lien said. “We’re trying to help the resistance.”
“There’s a reason the Chinese left the women, children, and old men alone.”
Tuan turned to walk away.
“Where are you going?” asked Lien.
“I have to get word to the underground. I’m finished with this. You’re on your own.”
“What are we supposed to do here?” asked Minh.
“This place will be compromised by morning, so that’s up to you.”
Tuan exited the courtyard and disappeared into the cadence of the night. Patrols sifted through the streets with higher frequency. The Chinese soldiers picked up their dead comrade and several others inspected the inside of the historical house, discussing the reason for the evening’s events. Sun Quan lowered his head at the door frame of the house and entered. He knew where to look. A row of photographs had one frame missing. The commander instructed the soldiers to scour the insides of the house to see if anything else had been taken or disturbed.
“Don’t bother,” said Sun Quan in his low steady voice. “They got what they came for.”
“Then why did you let them go?”
“Because I want them to have it.”
Sun Quan walked out into the street. The neighboring doors could barely contain the peering eyes, bulging from the cracks to catch a terrifying glimpse of the strange warrior. He could have terrorized them with one glance from his red eyes, but he allowed himself to float into the air, formless, and disappeared into the night. Several residents stepped out onto the street wondering what had happened to him, but the gloomy hours of early morning and the blood spatters on the pavement soon sent them back into their illusory safety chambers.