Jack Lipton was a very different type from Nghiem. Ex-military, a former Warrant Officer with the SAS, he had served three tours of duty in Vietnam with the Australian Army Training Team, before settling down as an assistant to the Military Attaché in the embassy, where I had first met him.
There was more to Jack than bluff military virtues. A short, chunky man who looked as if he could hold his own in a brawl, he was also a first-rate linguist, having topped his Vietnamese course in Australia before first going to Vietnam, and spoke it almost like a native. And he’d picked up a wife along the way, a sweet-faced Vietnamese called Sen*. Long retired from the army, they now lived in Strathfield, where he kept his hand in interpreting part-time for the Vietnamese community, and sometimes for the police. I’d always got on well with Jack, and they received us warmly when I took Hao there the next evening, armed with flowers for Sen and a bottle of Scotch for Jack.
‘Why don’t we see you any more,’ he cried.
Jack was much more helpful, assuming at once that I was working for my old outfit.
‘I can’t help you much with the gangs,’ he said. We spoke in his study, beer in hand, while Sen entertained Hao in the kitchen. ‘They’re very secretive, and the police have a hard time cracking them. But if it’s the right-wing movements you’re interested in here’s what I know.’
‘They’re mostly ex-military, and they’re not involved in crime. Here and there they attract some youngsters, the bụi đời you mention, and that’s where you might get some overlap with crime. But otherwise they’re a different area. They’re only interested in politics. Most of them don’t amount to much, two men and a dog, and they’re getting long in the tooth, but some of them are more serious, and they can be a nuisance. I don’t know much about that man Vo Khanh you ask about, but he sounds just the type. I hear they’re planning some big demonstration against a VIP coming out from Vietnam. A guy called Loc, I think. One of the new men coming up in the party.’
That was what Hao had said too.
‘Tell you what,’ Jack said. ‘I know someone who might be able to help you. He keeps a close eye on that kind of thing.’
‘A Vietnamese?’
‘Yes. I’d have to ask him first, he’s a bit wary with strangers. But you can trust him, he won’t talk.’
‘Any chance of seeing him this week? It’s rather urgent.’
‘I’ll give him a ring and let you know.’
He nodded towards the kitchen.
‘Nice woman you’ve got there. Has she got anything to do with this?’
‘No,’ I lied. ‘She’s just a friend I knew long ago in Saigon.’
I thought I’d have some apologising to do to Jack, if the truth ever came out. But something stopped me from telling him, some hangover from the old days, when you didn’t tell people more than you had to.
When I drove Hao home I walked her again to the front door. This time I didn’t hesitate, and kissed her on the cheek before she could draw away. She didn’t recoil, or throw her hands up in horror, but she gave me that look again before she went in.
I was too busy at work over the next couple of days to think much about these matters, and although I was tempted to ring Hao I resisted it. Best to wait until Sunday, I told myself. And on Saturday Jack rang me. His friend had been away. But Jack had now spoken to him, and he’d agreed to see me.
‘His name’s Quang,’ Jack said. ‘He lives in Bankstown. He’s expecting your call. It might be best if you go by yourself, the first time. He’s a bit leery of people he doesn’t know.’
‘I understand.’
Jack gave me some details. In his fifties, a northerner, had lived a long time in the south. Very bright, worked as a financial consultant in town. Not married, but had a daughter in France.
‘Bit of an odd bird,’ Jack said. ‘He worked for the communists at one time in Saigon, after the fall, knows a lot about them. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s still in touch. But he’s OK. He publishes a newssheet for the community, preaching reconciliation. It hasn’t made him many friends. He’s even had some death threats. I think you’ll like him. He’s like you in some ways. A bit of a loner.’
I rang Quang that evening, and arranged to meet him on Monday.
I also rang Eric. He didn’t sound very thrilled, but he said he’d be there the next day.
* There was a story to this, which few people knew. Sen was the widow of a close friend of Jack’s, a Vietnamese Special Forces Sergeant who’d been fatally wounded alongside Jack in a firefight with North Vietnamese infiltrators on the Ho Chi Minh trail. Jack had reportedly fought his way out single-handed, Carrying his friend’s body back to base. Afterwards he’d looked after the widow and her children, and finally married her and brought them to Australia. A mutual friend told me. Jack never talked about it.