Three days later, Tâm was on a bus to the city of Tay Ninh, in the province of the same name. It wasn’t far from Binh Duong Province, where the Cu Chi tunnels were located. The irony was not lost on Tâm. Still, as the bus passed by the road leading to the tunnels, the loss of Bảo and the love they’d shared felt less like a sharp knife slicing her heart. More like a dull ache that would always be with her.
Her mission, according to General Minh, was to gather intelligence. She was to go undercover and assume the role of a South Vietnamese villager, accidentally wounded when she fell into a guerrilla booby trap, which, of course, was the truth. “Tay Ninh is the seat, the Holy See, of Cao Đài. Do you know it?”
“The religion? Of course. Some people from my village practiced it.”
Cao Đài, an indigenous monotheistic Vietnamese faith founded in the 1920s, was a fusion of Buddhism, Christianity, Taoism, Confucianism, and even Islam. Its supreme deity, Cao Đài, was believed to have created the universe. Caodaism hoped to unite all religions, and also to provide a means of spiritual evolution. A basic principle was “All Religions Are One” and, as if to prove it, practitioners heralded as saints such eclectic luminaries as Victor Hugo, Joan of Arc, and Sun Yat-sen. Tâm had studied it herself at one point but thought it too diffuse and reverted to Buddhism.
“Then you know that Cao Đài’s Great Temple is only a few kilometers from Tay Ninh’s city center.”
She nodded. “It is a beautiful temple. At least from the photographs I’ve seen.”
General Minh went on. “Much of the Cao Đài hierarchy comes to Tay Ninh for meetings, synods, and other ecclesiastical events. Unfortunately, Cao Đài is staunchly anti-Communist. Which is surprising, since Diệm first supported them. Then he changed his mind. After that Hồ Chí Minh expected them to support us. But they have not.”
“Excuse me, General,” Dr. Hằng cut in. “The Cao Đài know they have no place in a secular Communist Vietnam. They are well aware that once the Communists win, they will be forbidden from practicing their religion. Or persecuted if they do.”
“Perhaps,” he said, nodding, “that is why some of their church members have infiltrated our ranks and are spying on us for the South.”
“But why?” Tâm asked. “Caodaists are pious. They strive for inner harmony to avoid bad karma.”
General Minh laughed. “Bad karma, is it? We have information that our activities in the area and across the border in Cambodia have reached the wrong ears. We have narrowed it down to three Caodaists, but we need to know who, where he or she is getting their intel, and whom they’re giving it to. Once we do know, they will indeed experience bad karma.”
“Three? How do you know?” Tâm said.
“Lieutenant Khuyên will tell you when he briefs you.” The general motioned to the younger officer.
“We believe they want to stave off victory by the Communists for as long as they can, Tâm,” Dr. Hằng said.
“But how do you know there are three?” Tâm repeated.
General Minh sprawled on Dr. Hằng’s silk sofa. “A U.S. military base occupies the western outskirts of Tay Ninh. The city itself is only twelve kilometers from the Cambodian border. Recently the base has been used as a staging area for U.S. units invading Cambodia. However, in four months time the entire base will be formally given to the South Vietnamese army by the departing U.S. military. It appears that these three have visited the designated commander of the base, Colonel Thian, at different times. Soon after those visits, it became clear that the colonel knew our plans in advance and thwarted our push south. One of our people traced those ‘visitors’ back to the Cao Đài church.”
Tâm tried to understand. “Why would they betray us? Because they are anti-Communist?”
“The Cao Đài will need South Vietnamese protection at some point, and they are buying it in advance.” He shrugged. “It is a pity they will not achieve their goal.”
Tâm folded her arms. “But, General, how can I do what you ask? I do not practice Cao Đài, nor do I know any Caodaists. How will I be able to find out who the spies are?” She rubbed the back of her neck. “And, if what you say is true, almost any Cao Đài would want to protect their religion from the North, yes?”
“That is all true,” General Minh replied. “But we are quite interested in who revealed our plans to the Caodaists. Which is why we need to identify the messengers.”
“But if I am to pose as a regular South Vietnamese citizen, how will I penetrate the Communists’ ranks? I fear you are overrating my abilities, General.”
“You are underestimating your skills.” He paused. “We recognize your mission will take time. It should. You must spend months, perhaps a year, becoming a trusted and loyal member of the church. Once you have identified the Southern messenger, he or she will lead you to the traitors.”
“General, I am honored by your trust, but I do not—”
The general cut her off. “I know you will do whatever is necessary.” His tone made it clear any further discussion on the subject was closed.
“We will get information to you when necessary. And you will send us intelligence when you have something to report.”
Dr. Hằng added, “You will be provided with a stipend for necessities, but you must work a job too, so you will not raise suspicion.”
General Minh motioned to the younger officer. “Go into the dining room with Lieutenant Khuyên. He will brief you on the three suspects and how to pass information to us.”
Tâm followed the younger soldier into the dining room, where he instructed her how to send and retrieve messages and how to use dead drops. He described one in the back of the market along a stone wall that she could use right away. He also showed her how to write coded letters, and, in an emergency, make a coded telephone call.
Then he described the three suspects. There were two men and a woman. One man was a priest and a womanizer. The second—they weren’t sure of his position in the church—was a gambler. They had no information about the woman.
When he handed her the bus ticket, Tâm’s jaw tightened. There was no way to refuse this mission. If she did, there would be a price to pay. They might even kill her. Perhaps not tomorrow or next week, but in time. It was clear Dr. Hằng had orchestrated everything. She’d assumed Tâm would comply. But since Bảo’s death, Tâm’s heart was no longer in it.
As the bus drove on, she stared at fields that had been destroyed by Agent Orange. She leaned the back of her head against the seat. What had she gotten herself into?