The Pen Project: Saigon 1967 3v5z52

The PEN PROJECT Saigon 1967

A NOVEL BY PETER EISENHUT

Copyright © 2016 Peter S. Eisenhut.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Balboa Press A Division of Hay House 1663 Liberty Drive Bloomington, IN 47403 www.balboapress.com 1 (877) 407-4847

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The Pen Project is a work of fiction. Names, characters, dialogue, organizations, and places are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

Cover photo by Bill Mullin, 1967.

ISBN: 978-1-5043-6064-7 (sc) ISBN: 978-1-5043-6063-0 (hc) ISBN: 978-1-5043-6065-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016910374

Balboa Press rev. date: 08/26/2016

Contents

Introductory Note

1 An Unexpected Phone Call

2 What If

3 The Project

4 An Offer I Could Not Refuse

5 Arrival

6 Orientation

7 Getting The Job Done

8 The Party

9 Going Home

10 Going Back

11 The Investigation

12 Chasing The Evidence–Cholon

13 Chasing The Evidence—Macv

14 A Non-Date

15 Assassination

16 An Affair To

17 Moving On

18 A Normal Life

19 Meeting Brandy

20 Donna’s Letter

21 The Cemetery

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

INTRODUCTORY NOTE

Many of the young people today cannot imagine a world without bottled water, cellphones, smart phones, the Internet, or personal computers. However, this was the reality of the 1960s. In the 1960s, computers were very primitive compared to the desktops and laptops today. In the 1960s, business and government organizations were just beginning to harness the power of large computers housed in isolated air-conditioned rooms. Meanwhile, a war was taking place in Vietnam, and the United States was becoming increasingly involved. In the 1960s, all men over the age of eighteen were required to for the draft. Some volunteered before they were drafted, and some went to Canada to avoid being drafted. However, most of those who went to Vietnam from the United States were drafted. A lesser number were college graduates who became military officers by participating in the Reserve Officer Training Corps, or by attending one of the military academies. Fewer yet were civilians, and most of them were men. Peter Troutman was one of those civilians. Most that went to Vietnam from the United States were told that they were there to protect our values, and to prevent the spread of communism. Most believed it. Troutman was no exception. In the mid-1960s, Peter Troutman was a brilliant computer systems analyst by day and graduate student by night. He was also young and socially naïve. In 2004, he is compelled to tell this story to his wife. He tells her of his unusual experience in Saigon, the capital of South Vietnam at the time, and the events leading up to his being there in 1967. He tells how the CIA involved him in espionage, assassination, and relationships that challenged his sense of morality. This is Peter Troutman’s story, as he would tell it. It is inspired by, and based upon, real events and places, including those of 1960s Saigon. Perhaps, one could call it historical fiction. However, while some may think otherwise, his story is fiction nonetheless!

1 AN UNEXPECTED PHONE CALL

RING… RING… RING… It was a Saturday morning in April of 2004. I was at home in my townhouse. My wife Carol and I already had breakfast, and she had just left for her community garden. I was sitting at the kitchen table having a final cup of coffee and working the morning’s crossword puzzle. It was my quiet time and I was not yet ready to start work on a long list of Saturday chores. Now the phone was ringing. It was still very early in the morning, and I wondered who would be calling. Was it Carol? Was it car trouble? Hoping for the best, I answered with a simple “Hello.” After a pause, a woman’s voice said “Congratulations! You have just won a free cruise to the Bahamas…” I immediately hung up. I got that call at least once every month. No sooner had I resumed working on the crossword puzzle than the phone rang again. This time a man told me that my contract against termite infestation had expired. I politely told him I was not interested and hung up. These calls were very annoying and all too frequent. In my opinion, they were fraudulent, but for some reason the FCC, the FTC, and the new Do-Not-Call List were not able to stop them. I had taken my last sip of coffee and was thinking of an eight-letter crossword meaning peace and quiet when RING… RING… RING… ended my thoughts of serenity. “Hello,” I answered, as I wondered what it would be this time. “Hello, my name is Brandy Evans and I would like to speak to Peter Troutman please.” “This is he. How may I help you?” I was expecting this to be another annoying marketing call. I always tried to be polite, but perhaps there was a hint of annoyance in my voice. “Mr. Troutman, I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time. I believe you may have known my mother, Donna Wolf.”

“I am sorry but I don’t think I knew her.” The name did not sound familiar. I was intrigued, but I wondered if this could be a new kind of a con job unfamiliar to me. Ms. Evans responded right away. “Mr. Troutman, you may have known her in nineteen sixty-seven as Donna Cinelli.” The mention of the date and the name was enough to trigger my memory. “Yes… I did know her. Why are you calling?” “My mother recently ed away from cancer. Before she died, she specifically requested that I you. I am honoring her wish.” “Thank you for notifying me. I am so sorry to hear that your mother ed away, but more than thirty-six years have ed by since I last saw her. I am not sure I fully understand.” Ms. Evans then explained, “Before my mother died, she had determined your whereabouts, and she gave me something she wanted you to have. Mom was very insistent that I deliver it to you in person. I would like to set a time to meet with you and talk about my mother. Would that be okay?” My curiosity was really peaked at this point. “Well, yes that would be fine. I live in Columbia. Do you live or work in the area? Where can we meet?” “I live in nearby Ellicott City so we could meet somewhere in Columbia.” “Okay there is a coffee shop called Lakeside down by Lake Kittamaqundi. Do you know where it is? Would that work for you?” “Yes, I know where it is. Could we meet next Saturday morning at ten?” “Yes,” I agreed. “Please let me have your phone number in case something changes.” Ms. Evans gave me her number. It was the same as the one on my caller ID, but I continued to be baffled by the call. Immediately after I got off the phone with her, I headed downstairs to my home office and logged onto my computer with the intention of tracing the phone number she had given me.

After leaving the IBM Corporation, Carol and I had started a small consulting business. We advised business and government organizations on how to make smart business decisions regarding telecommunications technology. We also did what we called audits or investigations of the use and expense associated with the technology. My home office downstairs was “headquarters.” Carol had a separate office upstairs on the third floor. We had computers in both offices, but when we first started the business, the house was not cabled for a data network, and Wi-Fi was still primitive. Running up and down the stairs kept us in shape, but was tiring, so we learned to communicate between the offices using the Internet. I found it very amusing to be able to send an email or a file from the upstairs office, have it go around the world, and end up in the downstairs office in only a few seconds. I guess that gives you an idea about how much of a techie I had become. I entered the phone number that Ms. Evans had given me into one of my computer applications. Within minutes, I knew that the phone number belonged to a James Evans and was a landline located at a residence in Ellicott City. I had some reasons to be suspicious, as you will understand later, but apparently, there was no need for concern. The call seemed to be on the level and probably not a scam…at least that was my thinking. I put it aside in my mind and began attending to my Saturday chores.

****

My annual nightmare of preparing an income tax return was over the previous weekend, well ahead of the deadline. This weekend I was doing all of the chores that had taken a back seat over the past three weeks. As I ran the vacuum cleaner, a mindless job, I began to recall the intense experience that Donna and I had in Saigon in 1967. We had promised to this experience and to stay in touch. Donna Rice, as I knew her then, was an operative with the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA). I was in Saigon as part of a private contract to implement an intelligence analysis program that I had developed in graduate school. Donna was my and the person to whom I reported. Perhaps a more apt description would have been baby sitter. I was an asset and she was my handler. I was in my mid-twenties then, technically very smart and creative, but

socially naïve. Donna was about the same age. She had had military training and had recently become a field agent for the CIA. Initially her job was to escort me, to introduce me to the military people I worked with, and to keep me out of trouble. However, before I left Saigon in 1967, her assignment, and my involvement, had evolved into much more. Although Donna and I had become close, I had not seen her since we said goodbye at an airport in South East Asia more than thirty-six years ago. I assumed Donna probably continued in the same line of work, so locating me would have been a cinch for her, but this was the first time she had initiated , and she was dead. I could not understand why Donna would want her daughter to me after all these years. It kept puzzling me as I attended to my chores. My foot was on the frame of my upside down lawnmower and both hands grasped the end of a socket wrench. I pushed downward on the handle of the wrench with all the force I could muster. I was trying to replace the blade on my lawnmower, but the damn nut was frozen tight. I set the wrench down and stood up to contemplate a new tactic. At that moment, it dawned on me that I would need to explain to Carol why I was meeting with a Brandy Evans next Saturday. This was a second marriage for both of us; we often referred to events in our first marriages as occurring in our “prior lives.” Our prior lives belonged to our private space. We had learned from our first marriages to respect each other’s private space. We had our independence, but we were happy together. Carol knew absolutely nothing about my experience in Saigon or about any of my other short-term projects with government agencies after that. In the 15 years we had been together, we just never talked about it. Nor had I said too much to my first wife, Penelope, who only knew the general nature of what I did in Saigon. I had signed a non-disclosure agreement not to reveal classified information. Therefore, I never discussed specifics. After 1975 when the North Vietnamese took over, some documents had been declassified, but it was never clear to me as to the classification of information I carried in my head. It did not matter. Since I never had a need to talk about it, I never did. Of course, I knew that I could never reveal the identity and activities of an active CIA operative. However, after more than thirty-six years, and with Donna gone, perhaps things would now be different.

****

Saturday evening we had dinner with friends followed by a game of Scrabble, and we got up late on Sunday morning. I changed the bed linen while Carol made our typical Sunday breakfast. Then she spent the next hour doing laundry after which she went off to her garden again. Have you heard the term “golf widow?” Well, I sometimes felt like I was a “garden widower.” We often joked about it, and it was not an issue. Perhaps I was putting it off, but it was Sunday evening, before I broached the subject of my experience in Saigon. I told Carol about the phone call and the meeting planned with Brandy Evans. Carol and I communicated openly on most things and I knew I could trust her. Of course, she was initially suspicious and asked many questions. “Peter, Why were you in Saigon? What did you actually do there? Why did you never mention it before? Who was Donna Cinelli? Had you been in touch over the years? Why would her daughter Brandy want to see you? Have you ever met Brandy before?” Carol and I talked about Saigon for an hour Sunday night, but there was only enough time to scratch the surface. Carol wanted to know the whole story, everything. Clearly, the whole story would take a while. We both worked full time during the day so we agreed to talk each night, prior to my meeting with Brandy the following Saturday. I never had a reason to tell the whole story until now. In a way, I looked forward to it. I was in Saigon to implement the Pen Project and the Pen Project was my brainchild! I did not go to sleep right away that night, as the memories of 1967 came flowing back. I still did not have answers for two questions. Why, after all these years, was I notified of Donna’s death, and what did her daughter Brandy need to give me?

2 WHAT IF

[Carol knew very little about my life prior to our marriage. Each evening, prior to my meeting with Brandy, I told Carol a little more. I started by explaining the events leading up to the project. To my relief, Carol seemed very interested and receptive, and my doubts about how much I could reveal slowly disappeared. So far, I was willing to reveal as many details as I could . The more I talked, the more the memories came back to me. The more details I revealed to Carol, the easier I found it to say more. The idea for the PEN project did not happen all at once. There was never a “eureka” moment. It evolved over a period of years. The idea of uncertainty and probability always intrigued me. I always had an interest in how past events influenced future events. It was this concept that the project was based on.]

****

It was early on an October morning in upstate New York. The sun was out but the temperature was cool and it was slightly breezy. The word “brisk” comes to mind. George and I stood on the side of a two-lane highway with our thumbs out, holding a sign that said “Watkins Glen.” It had been more than fifteen minutes since our first ride had dropped us off about one third of the way to our destination. Where was the traffic? I was beginning to feel the cold and wonder why I had let George talk me into this. What if this did not work out? No, I realized that it was not fair if I blamed George. It was as much my doing as it was his. Perhaps we had both been foolish. George and I were in our second year at Cornell University in Ithaca, New York. George and I were friends. Unknown powers had paired us up in our freshman year and declared us roommates. Fortunately, it worked out. We got along. We were both in the same engineering school, we helped each other with our studies, and we had common interests. By common interest, I am not just talking about

girls and booze. I am talking about math, science, and fast cars. Although we had already been on the town together, most of our time we spent studying. After our freshman year, George moved into an off-campus rooming house, and I was living in a fraternity house. However, we had remained friends. We had been back to school for about five weeks when George called to ask if I was interested in attending an automobile race the following weekend. After more than five weeks with our noses to the grindstone, we needed a break. Attending the auto race in Watkins Glen seemed like a great idea, and I told him so. Then he confessed to me that we had no way to get there. He wanted to know if one of my fraternity brothers, presumably one with wheels, wanted to go. I told him I would ask around and I did. Unfortunately, no one was interested, but me, and I really wanted to go. The race was only four days away when I called him back with the bad news. Perhaps I was the one that suggested we hitchhike. The big race this day was the United States Grand Prix at Watkins Glen. It was the first time ever that this race had been held at Watkins Glen. The participants would be the top international drivers and carmakers in the world. At the time, the Watkins Glen racecourse, simple known as The Glen, was a 2.35-mile track that included hills, sharp curves, and a tricky chicane at the back end of the course furthest from the starting line. The cars were Formula One open cockpit, open wheeled missiles. They had a look similar to those at the Indy 500. As I it, Honda was experimenting that year with a turbine-powered car. It would not be in the race, but it would do trial runs beforehand. News reports had described the high-pitched wail of the engine as it sped around the track. As engineering students, we couldn’t wait. Although it was a three-day event, we were only going for the main event on Sunday. Neither of us had access to a car, and there was no public transportation that would have gotten us there, so hitchhiking seemed to make sense. We had left very early in the morning to assure we would get there in time. We may have been having second thoughts because as we stood there on the side of the road, we began to ask a lot of “what if” questions. “What if no one picks us up? How long do we wait? Then what do we do?” “What if we get there late? Could we still get into the infield?” “What if we can’t get a ride back to Cornell?”

“What if we do not get back to Cornell until late in the evening? Would we be locked out of our respective houses?” Of course, these were all questions that we considered before we left, but now we were getting anxious about the uncertainty of the outcome. In spite of our second thoughts, George and I did hitchhike the thirty miles or so to Watkins Glen; we did see the entire race from the infield; and, we made it back at a reasonable time that evening. So, were we just lucky? For sure, there was a great deal of uncertainty. Outcomes could have been much different. How did we reach our decision to do this when there was so much uncertainty? We considered the probabilities and we considered the severity of the possible consequences. We reasoned that many people would drive to the racecourse from Cornell that morning making the likelihood (probability) of getting a ride very high. On the other hand, what if no one did stop and give us a ride? We reasoned that if we did not get a ride within a certain length of time we would simple turn around and head back. That would not have been a big downside; the time we were not able to study was time we were able to talk and get to know each other. What if we could not get a ride back? We figured the likelihood of not getting a ride back to school was even less than the likelihood of not getting a ride to The Glen. We reasoned that if the person that gave us a ride to the Glen also attended the event, we could ask them to meet us and bring us back. However, what if they were unable to do that? Well, we figured there would be many other people going back to Cornell and someone would eventually pick us up. If not, it would be an adventure. As it were, the person that took us did not bring us back, but he knew someone who did. Apparently, Cornell students had been going to this event for years, and many of them knew each other. There was another “what if” experience that involved George. The previous spring, I had pledged a fraternity, while George had decided to remain independent. When Spring Weekend approached, George and I discussed meeting women and getting dates. More “what ifs” ensued. “How do we get dates for Spring Weekend?” “Who do we ask?” “What if they say no?”

“What if we can’t get a date?” George decided that getting a date was not worth the effort; he was content to study. That was more important to him than a date. He did not see any net downside. On the other hand, having a date for Spring Weekend was more important to me. Perhaps that was why I saw a need to a fraternity and he did not. As it turned out, I asked someone, she turned me down, and I could not think of anyone else to ask. Was there a possible downside? Yes, I would miss some fun at my new fraternity, but I could still go and help with the beer and the drinks. It just so happened that my “Big Brother” was the Social Director for the fraternity. I debated whether to tell him my plight. I did not want him to think of me as less of a man because I was unable to get a date. However, I decided to risk it. After all, he was supposed to be my big brother and worthy mentor. I asked him. As it turned out, it was my lucky day…well somewhat anyway. He told me he knew someone who would like a date. It turns out that he fixed me up with his sister. I knew what this meant; I had to be on my best behavior. I do not her name. I do she was only a senior in high school and that she was polite and behaved quite properly. However, she was attractive and she was my date. I had no reason to be embarrassed, and I behaved myself. The upsides for that weekend outweighed the downsides, and I earned the respect of my new fraternity brothers. The two aforementioned experiences gave me valuable insights into how people make decisions. The results of actions one takes in life are uncertain. The best we can do when we make a decision, is to estimate the likelihoods or probabilities of the possible outcomes and evaluate the potential impacts these outcomes are likely to have. Sometimes we do this consciously and sometimes intuitively. Sometimes we do it well, and sometimes not so well. Nevertheless, we all do it. I began to realize that events are not isolated, but that one outcome leads to the need for another decision and to another uncertain outcome, ad infinitum. Let me illustrate this point further. In 1965, I was married to Penelope, working at TGW in Rochester New York, and attending night school at The University of Rochester to get a Master of Business istration (MBA) degree. What were the chains of events that enabled these things to happen?

****

How did I come to be married to Penelope? I would not have met her if it had not been for Ben. I am not sure how I came to know Ben, except that George may have had something to do with it. George knew Ben before I did. Ben asked if I wanted to go with him and two others to see some girls at a nearby all girl’s college. Perhaps I was a stand-in for George, who did not go. Ben did not have a car, so the two others provided the transportation. I had no idea who they were. In any case, Ben had been dating a girl at that school, and she had a friend who wanted a date. Yes, I know, blind dates usually do not live up to expectations. Not a problem for me; I had no expectations. Besides, I am always interested and curious about things I know nothing about. I told myself “what the hell,” and I told Ben I would be happy to go. The two transporters ditched us soon after we arrived, and Ben introduced me to his girl Penelope and my date Olive. We spent the evening at a local pub, had one drink, and danced to a couple of Juke box numbers. It was not an exciting evening but it was friendly and cordial. The four of us were not party types, but were more on the reserved side. I looking across the table at Ben and Penelope and wondering how they ever linked up. They were not hitting it off any better than I was with Olive. I asked how they met and learned that they were both Catholic and met at an intercollegiate church event. Perhaps that was the only thing they had in common. Sometimes Penelope returned my occasional glances. I sensed that inside she had a spark, an energy just waiting for an opportunity to release itself. I was attracted to her. Two weeks later, I found myself talking to Ben about an party at my fraternity. “Are you thinking about asking Olive?” he wanted to know. “No, I don’t think so. Are you going to ask Penelope?” Then he surprised me. “No. I am not going to see her anymore. Why don’t you ask her?” “Wait a minute, what happened? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Since I really had an interest, I was very curious to know what went wrong, so I pressed. “No really I want to know. If I ask her out, I’d like to know what I am getting myself into.” “She’s Catholic,” he said in a cynical tone. “I thought you were as well.” “Yes, but she told me I was not worthy, and I told her she had no soul.” “I see,” was all I could think to say. On further reflection, I decided he was probably frustrated that she did not want to have sex with him. I decided to ask her out. My relationship with Penelope started based on pure chance. It then developed based on conscious decisions made on both our parts and influenced by others every step of the way. We got married three and one-half years later in 1965.

****

How did I end up at TGW? It would not have happened if my parents were rich. They were not. They told me before I went to college that they could only afford to finance one of my eventual seven years of college. It was only my efforts and a great deal of luck that I was able to complete seven years. Some of the events were by chance; some were by design, but all were uncertain. One way I financed a portion of my education at Cornell was to apply to be part of a co-op work-study program. I was accepted, and I went to work for TGW. I would get my degree in the same amount of time, but instead of working summers, I would have a high paying job working a fall semester, a summer semester, and a spring semester. That meant taking classes during two summers rather than during the regular semesters. TGW was a privately held manufacturing company with about 3000 employees, located in Rochester, New York. They made specialty machine tools mostly for

the automotive industry worldwide. At the time, only rear wheel cars were on the road, and as long as that continued TGW had a “monopoly” on the machines that made the hypoid ring gears that connected the drive shaft to the differential gears and the rear axle. During my co-op work sessions in Rochester, I learned how to survive on my own, and although I did not have too much of it, I was learning how to manage money. During one of my work sessions in the spring of 1964, I heard about a new company called Xerox that started up in nearby Webster. Xerox had gone public, and people were telling me how Xerox was revolutionary and how the stock price was going to “go through the roof.” I was at the end of my work session and it was almost time to head back to Cornell. However, I was curious. I went into a stockbroker’s office that I just happened to walk past. I was wearing ragged clothes and I walked in off the street with no appointment. One of the brokers greeted me. I told him I knew nothing about the market but had heard about Xerox. He told me that for $200, I could have a share and he was quite certain that it would increase in value. I had the $200 but that was all I had, and I needed to eat the following weeks. I thanked him but did not invest. As we now know, the stockbroker was right. Xerox stock took off and split several times after that. Well ever since, I have asked “what if?” My prior co-op experience at TGW led to a nice full time job offer when I graduated from Cornell in 1965. They hired me as a systems analyst and assigned me to the Systems Department. I reported directly to Mr. G. He was the nephew of the current president and rapidly on his way to the executive suite. He had recently ed the family business after spending time in South East Asia. I was not sure what he did there, but I think he worked for the State Department. Rumor was that he was fluent in more than one language, including Chinese. Anyway, Mr. G’s mission was to modernize the company and he was doing just that. Only five years earlier, TGW did not allow female employees to smoke, the office areas had no air-conditioning, and spittoons lined the manufacturing floors. Mr. G. had created a Data Processing Department and a Systems Department of which I now became a part. The mission of the Systems Department, of which Mr. G took personal charge, was to redesign the way the company operated its business, to make it more effective at less cost. Computers were playing an increasingly important role in business. TGW already had two. By 1966, computers were faster and more reliable than they were before 1960 when they still used vacuum tubes. The use of transistors and

even solid-state circuitry not only allowed them to be faster but also allowed them to be smaller. Smaller meant they could be housed in a smaller room and the cost of cooling that room could be lower. The two computers at TGW and the tape drives that fed the programs and data into them stood on raised flooring in a room that was about thirty feet by fifty feet in size. At TGW, computer programs replaced an entire room of people whose full time jobs had been to crunch numbers using Marchant mechanical calculators. TGW had a large manufacturing job shop with each job moving through the manufacturing facility according to a predefined route. One of the assignments I had while in the work-study co-op program was to read the blue print of a newly designed part for a machine tool, and determine how to route it through the manufacturing job shop. For example, go to the milling department, then drilling, and then heat treat, etc. For each step along the way, the routing sheet would also specify exactly what work to perform and the tools required to do it. These routings were hand written and then typed onto special multipart forms. Often the routings needed to be changed. The entire process was time consuming and labor intensive. Later, as a full time employee I found a way to improve the process using the computer and the new Xerox technology. Then I became interested in how to minimize the overall elapsed time it took to manufacture a part. If too many jobs arrived at a workstation at the same time, they would queue up waiting to be serviced. Then the question became which job to work on next. The mathematics involved advanced queuing theory. The math was intriguing but elusive. There was no Internet in the 1960s. However, there were plenty of books and technical papers published in trade journals. I belonged to three professional societies at the time and there were speakers who were experts in their field with whom I could consult. I did some research and discovered that others had done studies and had published rules of thumb that were applicable to moving work through a job-shop. At my recommendation, TGW began to implement these rules. Many of my projects involved changing the way things were done, so that they would be done more effectively, more efficiently, or at a lower cost. Often, these changes lent themselves to new computer applications. Computer applications were the wave of the future!

****

How did I end up working toward an MBA degree? After coming to TGW fulltime, I decided to get an MBA degree. My interest had already changed from becoming a professional mechanical engineer to becoming an industrial engineer and computer analyst, and now I was thinking I might want to end up as a business manager with an engineering background. In short, I was still trying to figure it out. I enrolled in the University of Rochester MBA program at night. I figured that since both Penelope and I were employed full time, night school was affordable. I was especially pleased when I found out that TGW would pay for it. The graduate MBA program at The University of Rochester was normally a full time two-year program. However, I was allowed to exempt myself from taking six courses in the first year’s curriculum. I did this by ing three of the courses final exams, and by applying course credits from three other courses I took at Cornell in my fifth year there. I was able to take two to three courses each semester and figured I would earn the MBA in less than three years at night, maybe two. Without that opportunity, the next three years of my life may have turned out differently. Once again, a sequence of events that may or may not have materialized. Just so you do not think I was a total egghead, let me also say that my interests were broad. I had part time and summer jobs as an auto mechanic, shoveling sand in a foundry, laying tile, and serving food. I was good with tools, and somewhat athletic. My interests and activities included automobile racing, billiards, table tennis, and bowling. I even played on the TGW softball team. Our uniform was a T-shirt that had a giant ring gear on the front. I may still have it somewhere. My point is that my life could have gone in any of a hundred different directions, but it didn’t. Each of the events that led to my being married to Penelope, working at TGW, and eventually obtaining an MBA happened partly by design and partly by chance. In every case, the outcomes were always uncertain and could have changed direction at any step along the way. In my fifth year at Cornell, I had taken a course in stochastic processes. A stochastic process is a series of events that develop over time according to the laws of probability. I began to visualize life events like the ones in my own life as a stochastic process, but with one

significant difference. In real life the likelihood of each event occurring could be influenced by human will and human action, and as some believe, divine intervention.

3 THE PROJECT

[I have heard it said that “necessity is the mother of invention”.. Sometimes horrific events must take place before necessity is evident.]

****

President John F. Kennedy was assassinated on November 22, 1963 in Dallas Texas. People all across the nation and the world, glued themselves to their TV sets and watched in awe as the horror unfolded. Could this unfortunate event have been predicted? I considered the sequence of events that preceded the assassination. Were these events known or predictable in the days, weeks, and months prior to the assassination? I thought they were. Think about it. The president was riding in an open convertible automobile, on a route that ed three tall buildings, a bridge, and a grassy knoll, all of which would have provided a vantage point for a sniper. The parade route had been pre-announced several days in advance. Lee Harvey Oswald, the likely assassin, worked in one of the tall buildings. The FBI and the intelligence community knew that he owned guns, was a top sharpshooter, had a military background, was a communist, and had other serious issues with the US Government. They knew that he had defected to Russia, only to be allowed back into the USA after he lied about his mother needing him home for health reasons. They also knew he was discharged from the US military as “undesirable.” The FBI was more than aware of his existence. Three weeks before the assassination, the FBI had talked with Oswald’s wife, and Oswald threatened that he would blow up the local FBI office if they did not stop talking with her. The public was also aware of his existence. He had previous arrests, which made the news, and there were photographs of him handing out pro-Cuban flyers in New Orleans. It is possible that either Oswald did not act alone, or that others directed him to do what he did. There were credible warnings of an assassination before he came

to Texas. President Kennedy had done several things that were irable, but which made enemies. His handling of the Cuban missile crisis prevented Russia from having missiles near our mainland, but made enemies of Russia and Cuba. He also made enemies with the DOD and the CIA when he stopped an all-out invasion of Cuba, and settled for the failed Bay of Pigs Operation. He also made enemies of the CIA and the DOD when he rejected their Northwoods proposal to commit acts of terrorism against the US that would be blamed on the Cuban government. President Kennedy also felt betrayed by the CIA after the assassination of Ngo Dinh Diem, the tyrannical President of South Vietnam. Apparently, the CIA had orchestrated the assassination, while promising Kennedy that Diem would have safe age from the country. The CIA did not want that evidence to come out. Even the Mafia had grudges with President Kennedy. The President may have shared a mistress with a Mafia leader. In addition, the Mafia may have been angry because after their money helped to elect him, Kennedy’s istration actively fought Mafia corruption. There was also a possible link between the Mafia, the CIA, and the drug trade. Before coming to Texas, There was plenty of motivation for an assassination of Kennedy, and the Mafia, the CIA, or Cuban extremist could have been involved. It bothered me greatly that more was not done to prevent Kennedy’s assassination. Suppose there had been a way to centralize and evaluate all the bits of information that led up to the assassination. Would it have been possible to calculate the probabilities (likelihoods) of the possible outcomes beforehand? I thought so. I was convinced that if a process had existed to allow such an evaluation, an impending assassination could have been foreseen. Given the information available, one could have calculated the probability of an assassination three months beforehand, one month beforehand, and one day beforehand. If no counter measures were taken, these probabilities would have increased over time. One day beforehand, I think the probability of an assassination would have been very high. If these probabilities had been calculated, could counter measures have been taken to prevent the killing of the President? Of course, we will never know the whole story. People watched their TVs in horror again when Lee Harvey Oswald was himself assassinated only two days later. Perhaps we could have prevented that as well.

****

My reaction to the assassinations of Kennedy and Oswald motivated me to find a process that would avoid such a tragedy in the future. Toward the end of 1966, I took a course in information theory. The class was challenged to come up with possible applications using what we had learned about predictive analysis, conditional probabilities, etc. I began thinking about the stock market, but quickly realized the futility of that. There were too many unknowns and too many variables. Then I started thinking about how one piece of information would relate to other pieces of information, and how one could draw some conclusions after one had enough pieces of information. Somewhere along the line, I drew a parallel between pieces of information and events. Events related to each other. If you had enough information about related events you could possibly reach meaningful and predictive conclusions. It was this idea that “the project” was based upon. I submitted the assignment paper for the Information Theory class, but continued on my own time to develop the concept. In 1966, the world was ripe for new ways to use computers. Computers would be a way to do things a lot faster than in the past. For example, I years later I took a tour of the Arch in St. Louis. While waiting to go up in the tram you walk past a display of handwritten mathematical equations used by the architects to design the Arch. We are talking very advanced math, differential calculus, and hyperbolic cosine functions. Well you get the picture. I could only imagine how much easier it would have been if they were able to use a computer to do the calculations and create the blueprints. I thought about the possibilities of creating a network of related events, and applying the principals of information and probability theory to be able to predict outcomes. I created what was to become known as the Probabilistic Event Network (PEN). It was something like a PERT chart. A PERT chart is developed at the start of a project, and used to track project status. It portrays the events (activities) and the sequence in which they must occur in order to reach the project’s objective. However, my PEN network differed from a PERT chart in two important ways. First, in my network, an event may or may not occur, and if it does occur, may or may not lead to any following events. It could even lead to more than one objective. It was all a matter of probability. Secondly, whereas the events in a PERT chart are usually static, the events in my network were always changing.

****

[It had been a long time since I had discussed the project with anyone. I was actually proud of my accomplishment so I was more than willing to talk about the project itself. Carol and I were both detail oriented, and intellectually compatible, so I had no problem communicating the technical aspects of the project to her. I doubted that there was anything still secret about it in 2004.]

****

It was November of 1966 when I talked to Professor Gavin about my probabilistic network concept. The professor was my advisor in the MBA program. (Everyone had an Advisor). As it turned out, he was very intrigued by the concept. He told me that if I could develop this concept, including the math that connected the events, the computer program logic, and a process for updating it, that he would count it as the project that the MBA curriculum required for graduation. (Somehow, I do not think college is as tough these days.) I had always been quite good at math, but now computer programming was a new thing in which I took an interest. I involved myself in various exercises outside of my formal studies. While at Cornell, I attempted to write a computer program to play chess. Each possible chess move could elicit various possible responses, each with a different likelihood of occurring. When I attempted it, computers were not yet up to the task, and I put the project on the shelf. Now however, the capabilities of computers were increasing rapidly. I figured the idea of creating a computer application that could apply my probabilistic network concept had merit, and I started thinking about real-world applications. The professor told me that such an application might be useful to military intelligence. I asked what made him think of a military application. He told me that every year the CIA was one of the employers that came to the school to

interview graduates. Yes, that is right, the Central Intelligence Agency. Then he said that the gentleman that came up to the school to do the interviews was someone he knew quite well and he would arrange for me to meet him. “But, all in due time,” he told me. I had to prove the concept would work first. Full time work and night school was already tough on my personal life. Sometimes I would barely have supper, go right to school, take two classes, come home, and be extremely tired. Ironically, I could not always go to sleep right away because I would be buzzing with adrenalin. Yet, I knew I could do it and I told Professor Gavin that I accepted the challenge. With some time out for the holidays, I spent the next seven weeks working on the probabilistic network concept. I finally came up with a process that was able to calculate the probability or likelihood that certain predefined events would occur. Explaining it got rather technical, but Professor Gavin was eager to hear how it worked. The process I came up with started by defining a target event that one wanted to predict. Then one would create a network of dependent events that would ultimately influence the target event. One would define appropriate relationship rules and functions for each event to describe the mathematical relationships between that event and the events immediately preceding it. Then one would input apriori conditional and unconditional probabilities for each event where appropriate. [Carol asked what I meant by an “apriori probability.” I explained that I simply meant one that could not be calculated from any known data, and one that could only be estimated theoretically.] Finally, a computer program would step through the network and calculate the probabilities of each event along the way until the probabilities of the target events were calculated. Back in 1966, the initial input to a computer was stored on 80 column punch cards. Each event in my network had two input cards associated with it. The first card contained a three-digit ID number, fields to define the event IDs of immediately preceding events, a rule ID for those events, and fields for apriori probabilities as appropriate for the rule. There was also a field to indicate if the event was new, deleted, or changed. A description of the event appeared on a second card, or cards. The plan was to read these cards into a computer and store them as two separate files on magnetic tape. The first file would be the Event Input Data File; the other would be the Event Description File. These Event Files would be updated weekly. The files from each prior week would be kept and

labeled as to their date. I developed mathematical functions to describe different possible relationships between events. For example, if an event “A” occurs, one could calculate the probability that a dependent event “B” occurs. The probability of “B” would be the probability of “A” multiplied by the conditional probability of “B” given “A.” It gets more complicated when there are several “A” events affecting the probability of the “B” event, but in many cases, these relationships could also be defined. For example, in the case where both “A1” and “A2” (and nothing else), must occur before “B” can occur, the probability of “B” is the probability of “A1” multiplied by the probability of “A2.” Alternatively, if either “A1” or “A2” (and nothing else), must occur before “B” can occur, then the probability that “B” occurs is one minus the probability that neither “A1” nor “A2” occurs. The probability that neither “A1” nor “A2” occurs is the probability of “A1” not occurring multiplied by the probability of “A2” not occurring. In some cases, an event “B” could be partially dependent upon an unknown event, an “A3” for example. You could assign an apriori probability to the unknown event. In some other situations, probabilities could functionally relate to external variables. For example, the probability of winning a gunfight could be an exponential function of the ratios of guns and people available on each side of the battle. Often, these types of probability functions could be created using historical data. Once created, these functions could then calculate probabilities based on current data. There were other possible relationship, and many of the functions were more complicated. If I lost you, do not worry. The point is that you could calculate the probability of each event in the network once you knew the probabilities of its preceding events. I programmed these mathematical functions in FORTRAN, and kept them in a Rules File. I also created a logical process for stepping through the network, but creating the computer code for that process I left for later. A master computer program to integrate all of the pieces of the process and work for hundreds of events and multiple weeks of data was yet to be developed. Each week, this computer program would calculate the probabilities for each event in the network. The results would be saved in a file called the Calculated Event Probability File. Although the program code was not yet completed, I did create a simple test network of five events to illustrate the concept. For the test, I could step through the process and do all the calculations manually. Each week, a report would be generated to show the current network and the

calculated probabilities for each event. This report would be called the Event Probability Report. A trend report could also be generated for any particular event to show how its calculated probability changed over time. I completed the design for the basic reports. I completed all of the design specs for the Probabilistic Event Network by Monday January 9, 1967. That evening, I met with Professor Gavin and gave him a presentation. I had spent the weekend putting it together. I had a full documented report, overhead projector transparencies, computer printouts, the whole works. After my presentation, he told me rather ceremoniously “Peter, congratulations! You have just satisfied the project requirements you will need to graduate.” Then as I started packing up my briefcase, he added “ I told you about Mr. Armstrong, my colleague from the CIA. He is going to be here this Wednesday evening. I would like to show him your project report, if that would be okay. In addition, I would like you to meet him. Can you be in my office at seven PM on Wednesday?” “That’s great. Thank you. See you then.”

4 AN OFFER I COULD NOT REFUSE

It was Wednesday and Professor Gavin had arranged for me to meet with his colleague Jim Armstrong in the professor’s office at 7:00 PM. On that day, I had use of the car and was home by six. Penelope arrived shortly thereafter. She worked full time for Eastman Kodak as a computer programmer. For a woman in 1967, she had a good job, and her pay was even a tad more than mine was. However, we only had one car, and she worked on the opposite side of the city from TGW where I worked. Fortunately, she worked for a very large international company that employed many people. As a result, she was able to carpool with others that lived nearby. On those days when it was her turn to drive, or if she needed the car for other reasons, she would drive me to work and pick me up afterward. Either way, we both ended up home by six each evening. We would then have a quick supper, after which I would take the car and drive to the university to attend classes or to work in the library. Normally after I got home from work, and before driving to the university, I would change into clothes that were more relaxing. However, that day I wanted to make an impression with Mr. Armstrong so I continued to wear my work attire, a sports jacket, slacks, white shirt, and tie. I had told Penelope my good news about ing my project requirements the night before. She said she was happy for me. However, I neglected to say anything about the meeting I had tonight with Armstrong. I did not think anything of it until I was about to walk out the door and Penelope noticed my attire. “Aren’t you going to change?” she wanted to know. “Oh, I did not tell you. The professor wanted me to meet with one of his associates who may have an interest in the project work I did. To be honest I do not know what he has in mind. I will tell you everything when I get home.” I gave her a kiss, grabbed my briefcase, and ran out the door. I arrived on time at 7:00 PM, but Mr. Armstrong was already there and the two of them were chatting as I walked into the room. Both Gavin and Armstrong were what I would have called middle-aged. I later learned that they had known

each other for many years. I got the impression that they may have worked together before Gavin came to the school. Perhaps the professor had a secret past with the CIA. They both stood and Mr. Armstrong Introduced himself. “Hello Mr. Troutman. I am John Armstrong. I am a recruiter for the CIA. I am pleased to meet you.” We shook hands; he had a firm grip. I was a bit nervous at first, but I made my hand as firm as I could. I hoped he did not notice coolness in my hand as we shook. He must have though, because he then said, “no need to be nervous, Mr. Troutman. Professor Gavin has told me all good things about you.” “I apologize for my cool hand, Mr. Armstrong. I it that I am a little nervous. I was not exactly sure why you wanted to meet me. Has Professor Gavin told you about my concept? I have all of my presentation materials in my briefcase in case you need to see them.” Mr. Armstrong seemed okay with my response. “You can relax. Gavin has already done an excellent job of explaining what you created, and I have already read your report. He told me he liked the concept and believed that it could be implemented in a real life situation.” After that, I began to relax. Mr. Armstrong then explained that my probabilistic network concept had an application for the military in Vietnam. At that time, Penelope and I did not subscribe to a newspaper, and we did not have a TV. I knew very little detail about Vietnam, or about what was happening with the war there. I could not help but ask, “How will the CIA use the Probabilistic Event Network in Vietnam?” “Peter, the North Vietnamese have vowed to overtake South Vietnam and to unify the country under communist rule. The people of South Vietnam have a democratic government and they are a capitalist society. If the Communists take over, they will take away individual freedoms, just as they did in Russia, China, Korea, and East . In many cases, they will execute the dissenters. The standard of living in those countries is very low. The people are poor. We believe in the democratic form of government we have here in the USA, and we believe that capitalism is the right way to go. We are there to help South Vietnam preserve what they have. We are also there to prevent communism from spreading to other countries like neighboring Laos and Cambodia.

In the last couple of years, the South Vietnamese and the Americans have been attacked on multiple fronts. The Vietcong who are agents of North Vietnam attacked restaurants, military officer living quarters, and our embassy. North Vietnam has been sending troops and military supplies from Hanoi to the border with Laos and Cambodia ready to invade. In fact, they have come across the border in many places and have taken control of some of the border villages. If the people in those villages do not cooperate, they end up dead. The war is escalating. Many soldiers and innocent people have died. The military is just beginning to make effective use of computers. We have always had intelligence analysts, but a computer application like yours will allow us to analyze more events, answer more what ifs, and come to more objective conclusions than what we can do manually. Not only that, but it will allow us to do all this much faster. We need to be able to make sensible predictions from all the intelligence that we are gathering. I think that your Probabilistic Event Network concept will be ideal. It will help us to organize intelligence and predict where the enemy is likely to attack, and possibly when. We hope that the PEN project will help to reduce the bloodshed and save South Vietnam from communist control. I want you to help us implement it. Mr. Troutman, your for this project will be a very important thing that you can do for your country.” Then Mr. Armstrong spoke straight and to the point. He made me an offer I could not refuse! “Mr. Troutman, the CIA wants to hire you. We want you to leave for Saigon in four weeks and help to implement your Probabilistic Event Network. You would work with a MACV project team to explain how to set up the events, and with a programmer analyst who would write the master program and the report programs, and set up the procedures.” “WOW! That is rather sudden!” I exclaimed. “How long would I need to be there?” “I expect four or five weeks but we are flexible on that.” Then he added that during the next four weeks, I would need to get a port, attend a one-day seminar, and get a security clearance. That would mean filling out some forms. He would expedite the port and the security clearance.

I had many questions. “Mr. Armstrong, you said I would be working with MACV. What is MACV?” “MACV stands for Military Assistance Command-Vietnam. The word “assistance” is to remind us that it is not our war. We are there to “assist” South Vietnam with their war. MACV is in charge of everything that applies to the US military and advises South Vietnam. All branches of the US military are under MACV’s command. MACV reports directly to General Westmoreland. It has a headquarters in Saigon, and that is where you will be working.” “Mr. Armstrong, Why do you need me? Doesn’t the military have programmers that could do the job?” “Yes, they do, but we need more than a programmer. You have developed the concept to the point where it can be implemented. We need someone who understands the math and logic that links the events to each other. You had some of those relations pre-defined, but there will be others, perhaps more complex. We also need someone who can teach the military personnel how to implement the process, and we need someone to help test the code and the process after it is implemented to assure that it is working correctly according to your specs. We think that you are the best person for the job.” “What about compensation?” “Not to worry. We will pay you a consulting fee of five thousand dollars plus all expenses while you are there.” Five thousand dollars was a lot of money back then. My salary at TGW was $11,000 per year, which at the time was considered quite good, especially for a recent college graduate. Mr. Armstrong continued: “You will also continue to get your regular pay from TGW.” “Does my employer already know about this?” “All of that has already been taken care of with your employer.” I looked at Mr. Armstrong quizzically as I was wondering how, when Gavin chimed in. “Mr. Armstrong and I both know Jim,” referring to Mr. G, my boss and heir to the TGW Presidency. “He had given you a glowing recommendation. He mentioned your ability to work independently, to take initiative, and to figure things out without a lot of guidance.”

Then Mr. Armstrong added, “There will be a written contract that you will need to sign. Actually, the contract will officially be with TGW but aside from Jim, you will be the only employee named on the contract. Jim will review it with you.” “This sounds very exciting, but I need my wife to be okay with it.” Armstrong replied; “talk to her. You can also tell her that we will have your draft status reclassified as Two-C, ‘Critical Skills,’ but you need to let me know by Friday.” After I left that meeting, I attended my marketing class, but I found it hard to focus. My head was still buzzing. It all happened so fast. Was this really happening? How many people go to a meeting just to meet someone, and without even having a job interview, come out with an offer they cannot refuse? Later, during my drive home it hit me that I actually had several job interviews, not only with the professor, but also with Mr. G. Not only did Mr. G initially interview me for my position at TGW, but I frequently met with him at work as well. He often ed several of us in a card game at lunch. I do not the rules, but it was a game where you took tricks, like Hearts. The game allowed an unlimited number of people to play. I believe we named the game “get the leader.” Mr. G was clearly intent on building rapport and gaining the respect of those over whom he would eventually rule. Initially, he was manager of the new Systems Department, and I reported directly to him. However, within a year and a half he was two levels higher and in the “executive office.” As one of my colleagues told me, “I wish I could be on one of those executive training programs like Mr. G.” Near the end of the preceding summer, Mr. G had invited Penelope and me over to his home to dine with him and his wife, Marie. The invitation was a surprise to me, and Penelope and I wondered why we would be worthy of such attention. Of course, we eagerly accepted the invitation. They lived in an old but fashionable home on the East side of the City. Upon arrival, Jim and his wife, Marie, escorted us to a pleasant garden at the rear of the home. They offered us a drink followed by steak tartar, which we boiled in a fondue pot filled with oil, one piece at a time. The leisurely meal afforded us plenty of time to talk.

Jim was soft spoken. Marie said little, letting him take the lead. Although they were in their mid-thirties, they had no children. We learned that Jim and Marie had spent time in South East Asia, that Jim spoke Chinese, and that Marie spoke French. Although we were interested in hearing more about their experience abroad, they said very little. Jim seemed to be a very private person and he directed most of the conversation at Penelope and me. Jim wanted to know if we were planning to have kids, and we said we were holding off at least until I finished my degree. Penelope told him about her job as a programmer, and that she wanted the opportunity to work for a while before we had kids. He asked me what I wanted to do long term. I did not have a precise answer for that as I was still figuring that out. However, I asked him what he thought the opportunities would be at TGW. We both knew that there were limited opportunities at TGW. It was a small company and not growing. The few key positions were filled with people who had to die, retire, or quit, before someone could replace them. That led to a discussion about expanding the company, and travel to other parts of the world where they had, or would have, sales offices and t ventures. Would we consider something like that in the future? Penelope and I both agreed that that would be exciting. At that time, we were flexible and ready to embrace all possible futures. We left having enjoyed the evening but still wondering why we were receiving so much attention. Thinking back on that evening, I wondered if Mr. G might have had more in mind than what was apparent. When I arrived home from the University that Wednesday night after meeting with Mr. Armstrong, I talked to Penelope. It was late so we talked again the next night as well. I wanted Penelope to have a say and point out things about which I may not have given enough thought. Although I wanted badly to go, she could have vetoed the offer, and I would have accepted that. However, she saw things the way I did. Financially it was like winning a lottery. “Who can turn down a chance to increase their annual salary by almost fifty percent for only four weeks of effort?” she told me. I also considered my responsibility to my country. I had avoided the draft with a student deferment until I started working full time for TGW. Night school did not qualify for a deferment, and my draft board had recently reclassified me as 1A. If drafted, I would be gone for two years. Penelope said she would miss me, but only four or five weeks was much better for her than if I were gone for two years. For me, it was also an exciting adventure and I would be doing something I enjoyed. We both agreed that I should say yes to the offer. On Friday, I called Mr. Armstrong and accepted the offer. Over the next four

weeks, I had a great deal to do. I talked with Mr. G and thanked him for the opportunity. I co-signed the contract with TGW. I went to the university library and learned all I could about Vietnam, and about the war. I met again with Mr. Armstrong for a “briefing.” I filled out lots of forms. I packed. I even found time to finish my course work for that semester. Within two weeks, I received a new draft card with a “critical skills” deferment, my first ever port, and a Top Secret security clearance (with “special provisions”). Spring semester at the university would begin soon. Apparently, I would not be taking any more classes until the fall semester.

5 ARRIVAL

I left Rochester early on Friday morning February 10, 1967. It was still dark, and it was cold in Rochester, but I was told that it was hot in Vietnam. I had packed accordingly. Penelope drove me to the airport. She let me off at the terminal so I could check in while she parked the car. I had a large suitcase in one hand, a briefcase in the other, and a World War II army duffle bag slung across my back. My luggage weighted me down, and I could barely manage getting myself to the check-in counter. The duffle bag had been my father’s bag when he was in the army. I had stuffed it with underwear and anything that would not need ironing. It was about three feet high and had a strap allowing me to sling it over my shoulder. I checked the suitcase and the duffle bag. I carried the briefcase onto the plane. The briefcase was really an artist’s case, a four-inch thick hard-sided case with a lock. It was large enough to transport computer printouts plus everything that I may need at my new work location. The briefcase contained all of my papers having to do with my Probabilistic Network Concept. It also contained a small slide rule, a flowchart template, the official papers that I would need, some toiletries, a sandwich, a fresh shirt, and a change of socks and underwear. Back then, there were no security lines, so I did not have to open up my briefcase. Penelope returned, after parking the car, and we chatted at the gate until it was time to board. I removed my coat and left it with her to take back to the car. I would not need it in Vietnam. We kissed each other goodbye and hugged briefly. “Good luck, Peter. I love you.” “I love you too,” I replied, and followed the crowd across the tarmac and out to the plane. Getting to Saigon from Rochester, New York was a three-day affair. Mr. Armstrong had pre-arranged my travel reservations and tickets. My recollection is that I took a United Airlines flight to JFK, and another United Airlines flight to San Francisco. I spent the night at a local airport hotel that had shuttle service to and from the airport in San Francisco. Early Saturday morning, I took a

commercial Pan American Airways flight to Hong Kong. This was a fourteenhour flight. After subtracting eight hours of time zones, but then adding 24 hours because of crossing the International Date Line, we arrived in Hong Kong around 1:00 PM. the next day, which was now Sunday. The trip was all very exciting to me. I had only been out of the country once before, when I drove across the Canadian border on some back roads from New York State. I was so naive I did not realize that the speed limit signs in Canada were in kilometers, and I had fun driving as fast as I could on the two lane country roads. Now, I was traveling halfway around the world. From the air, Honk Kong looked very large, like New York City. It had skyscrapers and buildings with strange shapes, modern for its time. I wished I could have spent some time in Hong Kong as I had heard it was a beautiful city to visit. However, an hour in the airport was all I got. We left Hong Kong around 2:30 PM for our flight to Saigon. As we took off, an announcement welcomed us on board and gave special thanks to the military on board for their patriotism. I looked around. The plane was filled with uniformed military personnel. I later learned that many were returning from a “rest and relaxation” leave (R & R). They were almost all men, except for three women who had medical emblems on their uniforms. There were probably no more than five civilians on board including me. I found myself seated next to an Air Force Lieutenant. According to the nametag on his shirt, his name was McCann. I introduced myself as Peter, and we began to talk some. He asked if I was on my way to Bangkok to my wife. He could see that I was married as I was wearing a wedding ring, and he could see that I was a civilian so his question was reasonable. “No, I am only going as far as Saigon, and my wife is in New York.” “What brings a civilian to Saigon?” he wanted to know. Mr. Armstrong had prepared me for this type of question before I left home and I gave McCann the answer I had rehearsed. “I am a computer analyst and I am working under a civilian contract to design some code for MACV.” “I suppose you can’t say much more than that,” he responded. “No. Sorry. If I did, I would have to kill you.” I said this jokingly, but I am not

sure he appreciated the humor in that, so I quickly asked, “What about yourself?” I learned he was returning from an R & R week in Hong Kong. He had already seen action in the air and was in his second year of service. He had been on bombing runs from Thailand but was now going to be stationed near Tan Son Nhut airport where we would be landing. He said that things may quiet down in the Saigon area relative to the prior two years. According to him, much of the Vietcong in the “Iron Triangle” around Saigon had been eliminated, and the Air force was doing a great job of bombing supply lines down the Ho Chi Minh trail. I took what he said at face value. As we approached Tan Son Nhut, an announcement came over the intercom. It went something like, “Those of you who are returning know the drill. Fasten your seat belts and be prepared for some serpentine, followed by a rapid descent and some sharp turns.” I had an aisle seat so I could not get a great view out the window, but I could tell that we were now over land. I looked over at Lt. McCann. He was not perturbed. He smiled. In a matter of minutes, we banked sharply to the right, then sharply to the left and then we spiraled downward, perhaps 15,000 feet. At one point, I could feel the blood start to drain from my head. It was like an amusement park ride. I had a new iration for the maneuverability of the Boeing 707 aircraft. As we hit the tarmac, and decelerated, I looked over at McCann again. He smiled. As we departed from the plane, we wished each other the best. As I came off the plane and walked across the tarmac, I was struck by how bright the sun was and how hot it was, not steamy, just hot. I had lost track of time with all the time zone changes, and my wristwatch was wrong, but I judged it was late afternoon around 4:00 PM. It felt like going on vacation in Arizona or Southern California. Then I noticed the many military vehicles, the military aircraft, and the armed soldiers. It was not like any place I had ever been on vacation. I made my way through the terminal building entrance and found my way to where I could retrieve my luggage. Then I realized I would also have to go through customs. I showed my port and travel papers and they allowed me to without having my luggage searched. Nevertheless, I was beginning to get hot and irritable with the inconvenience. As I finally exited the area, I saw a

young woman holding a sign with my name on it. I had been told that someone would meet me at the airport and escort me to my hotel, so I walked over to the woman with the sign. “Are you looking for me?” “I do not know. Who are you?” “I am Peter Troutman. My name is on your sign.” “Let me see your port.” I showed it to her. “Looks like it is really you Mr. Troutman. I am Donna Rice; you may call me Donna. May I call you Peter?” “Yes, of course,” I replied. “How was your trip?” “It was long, and I am hot and tired.” “Not the first time I have heard that,” she said with a smile. “I will help you with your bags, and then I will drive you to the Continental Palace where you will be staying. When she spoke, her tone was firm but pleasant, and she had a cute smile. She came across as being friendly. Donna appeared to be about 25 or 26 years old. She was about five feet eight inches tall with an athletic build, thin, but well proportioned. She had short golden-brown hair. Her hairstyle was short, similar to that sported by Mia Farrow, Julie Andrews, or Lisa Minnelli at the time. The color of her eyes matched the color of her hair. The lobes of her ears were pierced with gold studs. She was wearing tan slacks and a plain white blouse with short sleeves and an opened collar that revealed a light tan that matched her slacks. Except for the open collar, her cotton blouse was fully buttoned. She was not wearing makeup, but she had a pretty face, with nicely proportioned facial features and a clear complexion. With the pants, the absence of makeup, and short hairstyle, her appearance was modest and not provocative, at least not in a feminine way. If anything, I thought her appearance leaned in the direction of “butch.” “Peter, let’s get to my vehicle. You can set your bag onto this cart”

Back then, I did not have luggage with wheels. However, Donna had brought a wheeled cart. “That will be very helpful. Thank you. I also have a duffle bag.” I retrieved my duffle bag and we loaded my luggage onto the cart. Then we made our way to her vehicle. She pulled the cart with my luggage, while I held onto my briefcase. Her vehicle turned out to be an army jeep. It had a canvas top, but the top was down. “It looks like that suitcase and duffle bag of yours may be heavy. Let me load it for you.” Before I could respond, she lifted the duffle bag and tossed it into the back of the jeep. I went for the suitcase, but she promptly took it from me and told me she had it. Donna was clearly a lot stronger than she looked. Once again, I thought that “butch” might be an apt description. I dismissed the thought, and put my briefcase in the back with the suitcase. We climbed into the Jeep. Before Donna started up the engine, she turned to me and asked, “Are you thirsty?” “Actually I am very thirsty…and hot.” “Well, you are in luck. I have something for you.” She turned her body around and reached into a cooler she had behind the seats and handed me a bottle of water. I grabbed ahold of the bottle and could see that it was a quart sized glass bottle of seltzer water. I was a bit surprised as seltzer water was not something that I drank very often, and a whole quart of it to boot. As I opened it and took a swig, I ed that when I was very young, I found some seltzer water in the refrigerator, and experimented making ice cream sodas and carbonated eggnogs. As the carbonation filled my mouth and went down my throat, I ed why I did not drink it very often. The carbonation made me gassy and sometimes aggravated my digestive tract. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, I politely said “thank you.” Sensing my reticence, she said, “Peter, it’s very hot here and very important that you stay hydrated. I have heard that seltzer water is very popular with the Jewish population in New York. Isn’t it something you drink?” “No not generally? Did you think I was Jewish?”

“Aren’t you Jewish? No, I am Christian. How about you?” I am Christian too, Catholic. Sorry, I shouldn’t make assumptions.” “It’s okay. Forget it.” “In any case, safe water is hard to come by in Saigon. May I give you some advice?” “Sure.” When you get to your hotel, do not drink the water. Have you heard of Montezuma’s revenge?” “Of course. Do you have that problem here?” “Yes, but here we call it Ho Chi Minh’s revenge.” “So then what am I supposed to do to stay hydrated?” “Seltzer water is a good substitute. You can buy it at the military Commissaries. Bottled mineral water is good as well, but for me it acts as a laxative. However, if it works for you, there is imported Perrier and there is Vinh Hoa, a local brand also available in stores here. The locals that live here drink hot tea. Hot coffee, soup, or the local pho, are good too. Anything that uses boiled water is fine. The French drink wine and many of the soldiers here drink beer. You can also find imported soda like Coke, Pepsi, and Canada Dry in the Commissary. The military imports water for the military or makes it at sea from seawater. The US imports the water in the coolers where I work and where you will work. That water is generally considered safe. Since you will be here for several weeks, your body may slowly acclimate to the water at your hotel. Brush your teeth with it and rinse with seltzer water. If after a few days you still feel good, take a few sips of the tap water and increase it in bits each day, but don’t overdo it.” “Thanks for the water and for the advice as well.” I took another sip and put the cap back on the bottle. She started up the engine and we were off. She told me that the hotel was about

five miles from the airport. As we came into the downtown area of Saigon, she commented on several places in the city as we drove by. We drove by the Presidential Palace, and then the new US Embassy building that was under construction on Thong Nhat next to the French and British embassies. We then traveled down what Donna said used to be called Rue Catinat. She told me that after the French left, Rue Catinat and many other streets were renamed. As we approached the Notre Dame Cathedral on Duy Tan, Donna began explaining what we were seeing. “The Notre Dame Cathedral was completed by the French in 1880. The entire Basilica is surrounded by a square that recently was named JFK Square.” Jokingly, I said, “You sound like a tourist guide. Who is it you actually work for?” “Peter, don’t be cute. You can think of me any way you wish, but I think you know who I work for.” Actually, I was being cute, and I did know who she worked for. Mr. Armstrong had briefed me before I left home. He told me that my CIA would be Donna Rice, and that she worked for the USAID organization as a hospitality worker. I was thinking that if hospitality was a role, then Donna played that role extremely well. Before leaving home, I had done some research to determine what USAID was. Of course, the Internet did not exist back then, but the university librarian was very helpful. I learned that President Kennedy started the US Agency for International Development (USAID) in 1961, as a way to consolidate various foreign aid programs. It was set up as an agency under the State Department. The purpose of USAID was to provide economic assistance to underdeveloped countries worldwide. In 1966, South Vietnam received about one fifth of the total aid provided. The concept behind this aid was that the USA needed to do more than use military force to win over Vietnam. They also needed to win the hearts and minds of the people. Aid to South Vietnam included a wide variety of . It included providing medical care, settling refugees, building schools in rural areas, providing agricultural assistance, improving transportation, and ing Vietnamese importers. A public Safety division provided to the National Police. Years later, I learned about the most controversial program that USAID was involved in was called CORDS, which was essentially run by the US military, and the CIA. Its purpose was to remove the rural area from

Vietcong control, and to win over the minds of the peasants to the South Vietnamese cause. The effort was called “pacification.” Donna continued talking. “On November first of last year the Vietcong landed twelve mortar shells on this square killing five, injuring more than forty, and doing damage to the roof of the seminary. You can see where they filled in a mortar shell crater over there by the statue of the Virgin Mary.” “Why would they attack a church” I wanted to know. “We do not think the church was the target. That morning when the shells landed a parade was in progress celebrating National Day and three years since President Ngo Dinh Diem was overthrown. General Westmoreland and the current President were in the viewing stands, and many of the marchers were reportedly ex Vietcong. Most of the victims were innocent Vietnamese, but one US military officer that came to watch was killed. He was a Navy Lt. Commander. He was someone I had met.” “Donna, I am sorry.” “It’s okay. I am telling you this because these attacks seem to occur randomly without warning. My advice is to avoid organized events, parades, and demonstrations. We are in a war zone and you need to stay alert.” After we left JFK Square and the Cathedral, the street name changed to Tu Do and the hotel was only a short distance further. I commented that even though today was Sunday, there was quite a bit of traffic. I also noticed that there did not seem to be too many traffic signals. “You should see it on a week day,” she said. As we came down Tu Do Street, we ed the Continental Palace and another building on our left before we turned left. I noticed an Air Office on the right, and the Hotel Caravelle entrance beyond that. “Donna, what is this building in the center of the square that we are driving around?” “We are driving around the National Assembly Building. It used to be a theater for live performances, but now the ruling body of South Vietnam meets here. They have made it one-way around the square, and the entrance to your hotel is actually on the other side of this square and not on Tu Do Street. By the way, the French had named it Garnier Square, but now it is known as Lam Son Square.”

When we arrived at the entrance to the Continental Palace, I looked at my watch. With today’s traffic, and our circuitous route, it took us about twenty minutes to travel from the airport to the hotel. Donna helped me unload my luggage. She told me I could check in, but to meet her in the lobby in about thirty minutes. “Okay…Oh wait. What is the local time here right now?” “It is about seventeen hundred fifteen hours. I will meet you here at eighteen hundred hours.” I made note of the time and reset my watch, as I muttered to myself about my need to figure out that 1715 hours meant 5:15 PM. After I checked in, a valet took my luggage to my room. Not knowing what a fair value was, and with no local currency in my pocket, I tipped him one dollar in US currency. He took a glimpse of the dollar bill and quickly stuffed it into his pocket, as if I had given him a packet of heroin. He seemed very happy to have received it. My room was interesting, what one might expect from a historic hotel. I would say it was typical French Colonial. My room was on the first floor. The first floor was actually the second floor, one floor up from the lobby, which was the ground floor. On entering the room, the wall for the bath was on my right and the wall for the room on my left. As I walked to the windows at the far end of the room, I immediately ed a double bed on my right and an armoire on my left. The bed was higher above the floor than I was accustomed to and it had a dark wooden headboard and footboard. It looked old-fashioned. There was a small lamp table next to the bed. The armoire was directly across from the foot of the bed. It had plenty of drawer space and a hanger bar for my clothes. The wood of the armoire matched the wood of the bed. When I reached the windows, I looked out and could see that it faced the street. The windows opened like French doors and offered a view of Tu Do Street. There was a retrofitted air conditioner unit at the bottom of one window. Thank goodness for that! The drapes were open, exposing the room to the late afternoon sun. The room was very warm, so I reset the air-conditioner to a lower temperature causing it to turn on. In one corner near the window was an over-stuffed brown armchair. On the other side of the window, opposite the armchair, was a dark wooden desk with a wooden chair. The ceiling was high with a wooden fan in the center. The floors were hard and marble-like. They had a reddish–brown hue. Scatter rugs were strategically placed for warmth. Despite the light coming through the window, the room had a dark appearance. Overall, the room seemed quite large, and the furnishing

sparse. The bathroom had a full size tub with a splashboard at one end with a hook to hang the shower hose. Next to the toilet was a bidet, another reminder of decades of French dominance. C’est le vie, I thought. I had stayed in better hotel rooms, but this was fine for my purposes. It did have a certain charm I thought. I washed up quickly and left the room, being sure to lock the door behind me. Donna was already waiting for me when I arrived back in the lobby. “Are you hungry?” she asked. I had not eaten for at least five hours so I was ready to eat. “Yes I could use some food. What did you have in mind?” “There is a café across the street called Givral. Let’s go there and we can talk some more.” We walked to the other side of Tu Do Street and sat at a table at Givral. “Peter, have you ever read The Quiet American?” “No, why do you ask?” “Well it was written in nineteen fifty-five by an author named Graham Greene who stayed at the Continental Palace. He used to eat here at the Givral and joked that he spent so much time here that the Givral was like his office. The story took place while the French were still in power before nineteen fifty-four. The novel was about Alden Pyle who was sent here from Washington but his idealism got him into trouble. You should read it.” Then she changed the subject. “A popular dish here is Pho. Many people here start their day with it but I like it anytime. Are you game?” “Sure.” “Do you prefer beef or chicken?” “I do not know, Surprise me.” “I will order one of each.” Donna went to the counter and speaking in Vietnamese, she ordered a pho bo and a pho ga from the Vietnamese woman on duty. Shortly thereafter, the meal was brought back to the table for us. Donna allowed me to try a little of each type. Pho consisted of meat, green vegetables, rice noodles, and broth. I found

Pho to be quite good, a very enjoyable meal. I told her “I like this Pho.” “This time it will be my treat,” she said. After we ate, Donna became very businesslike. “Peter, people you meet may ask what you do or why you are here. If someone asks you why you are here, you tell them that you are a computer analyst that works for a US company that is contracted to MACV, and that is all you tell them. Earlier you asked me what I really do. If anyone asks you what I do, you tell them that I provide guest services for USAID, and that is all you need to tell them. The job I have with USAID is a real job by the way. Our other roles are never to be mentioned in public. Please tell me you understand that.” “I understand that,” I said, as I looked her in the eye. “Actually, Donna, I would be interested in knowing more AID and what you do for them, if you have enough time. What is the mission of USAID?” “Well,” she began, “the mission of USAID is to help countries such as South Vietnam become democratic and capitalistic countries. We do this primarily through economic help, education, and technical assistance. Here in South Vietnam our goals are shared with the military and other government agencies.” “How does your job fit into that mission?” “It fits indirectly. I see a real need for what I do. Accomplishing our goals requires both military and civilian participation. The military handles the needs of military personnel. The military command regulates the travel, room, and board, of its , and has direct control of their activities. However, the needs of civilians that come here are different, and there is no single authority to guide their activities. Civilians here do not usually take orders directly from military officers, and they are not subject to the same disciplinary process. Civilians like you are here voluntarily and for many different reasons. Some are here for a few days, some like you for a few weeks, and some, like myself, are here on temporary assignments that may be for one or two years. In addition to needing appropriate places to live, they also may have special transportation

needs; some need cars, and some need drivers. They may need special security measures, like bodyguards. They may need maps of the country or the city and some assessment as to what areas or routes are safe and what ones are not. They may need to know where specific agencies, businesses, or facilities are located, and how to get there. They may need help to know who to see, or what to do about various issues they may have. If here for the first time, they need orientation to the Vietnamese culture, the economy, and the laws. They need to understand the dangers of being in a war zone, and if they have not been in the military they need to understand the structure and social nature of military rank. My organization is here to satisfy the needs of civilians who come here as guests of the US government and its various agencies. My USAID title is ‘Manager of Civilian Guest Services’. There are four of us right now. We work for USAID under personal service contracts. That means we are contractors, not employees of USAID. My USAID contract is for two years and my term ends at the end of this year. In addition to ing civilian guests of MACV, such as you, we also civilian guests of USAID, the US Embassy, the USO, the t US Public Affairs Office, and the CIA. In short, I escort visitors to the city, help them acclimate, and help them with any logistics or travel issues they may have. So, ‘tour guide,’ as you suggested earlier, is not far off the mark. I do this for three or four visitors per week. However, in your case I will be doing that plus a lot more. And, before you get cute, sexual favors are never part of the deal.” “I would not have thought otherwise.” “Peter, your official orientation will start tomorrow morning but I feel the need to give some advice up front. You are in a place that is unlike other places you have been. Saigon is in the middle of a war zone. I am to be your primary . You will report to me on a regular basis while you are in Saigon. My job is to be sure you have what you need, to show you how to get around the city, and to protect you. Above all, however, my job is to assure that you successfully complete the job you were brought here to do. Sunset is around eighteen hundred hours here and the city can be dangerous after dark. You need to be careful as to who you trust and who you associate with. There are many who will try to take advantage, including gangs we call ‘cowboys,’ who roam the streets. Keep your personal items close, and be sure

and keep you hotel room door locked at all times. You also need to know that we have a midnight curfew in Saigon right now. I suggest that you do not leave your hotel room tonight, as you have not yet ed your presence with the embassy. Peter, I cannot tell you what to do with your personal life, but if you let things get out of hand, you will be sent back home. Do you understand me?” Although I felt like I was being scolded by my mother, and her lecture sounded a little over the top, I was in no position to judge. My response was “I understand you. Don’t worry.” She continued, “This is a good place to have breakfast. I would like you to be here in the morning at zero seven-thirty hours. After we eat I will brief you some more, and I will then take you over to the American Embassy to your presence. I will introduce you to the Colonel who is in charge and the Captain you will be working with. After that, you will go to the location where you will be working. For tomorrow, you will not need to bring anything with you except your port and your wallet. As you can see, it is already dark. I will escort you back to the hotel.” As we entered the hotel lobby, I thanked her again for her advice and for the delicious pho. Then she said, “Just one more thing before you go. Here is a map of the city, published by Central Command. It will help you find your way around.” I climbed the stairs up to my room. I was pleased that the air conditioner was working and the room had cooled off. I closed the drapes, sat down in the easy chair, and began to look at the map. First, I located my hotel, (number 57). Then, I found the Cathedral we had ed earlier (number 77). It appeared to be a short walk up Tu Do Street to the right. I could see that if I walked down Tu Do Street to the left, I would come to the river. The Majestic Hotel (number 60) was on the right, and The US Embassy that I would be visiting in the morning (number 76) was only a couple of blocks more to the South.

Downtown Saigon

Partial Index for City Map (Size of map is 2.1 miles by 1.4 miles)

1 6 22 56 57 60 62 64 65 71 75 76 77 89 110 120 130

The Assembly Building (Between 56 and 57) The Brinks BOQ The Rex BOQ The Caravelle Hotel (entrance off Lam Son Sq.) The Continental Palace Hotel (entrance off Lam Son Sq.) Majestic Hotel Medical Facility Bowling Alley Cercle Sportif at NW end of City Gardens Saigon USO The New US Embassy Compound (under construction) The Current US Embassy Notre Dame Cathedral on JFK Square (at top of Tu Do) MACV HQ at 137 Pasteur La Paix Restaurant at 44-46 Dinh Tien Hoang Tan Dinh Church at 289 Hai Ba Trung Eden Building and Givral Café

6 ORIENTATION

The next morning I was up at dawn, as the noise from the traffic below began to get very loud. I showered, brushed teeth, got dressed in slacks and white shirt, got my documents together, and made my way down the stairs to the lobby just before 7:30 AM. I was surprised to see Donna there, as she had told me to meet her at the café. “Peter,” she called out from across the room, and waved for me to come closer. “Please go over to the café and order your breakfast…no need to wait for me. I have something I must do first. I will be over there as soon as I can.” I watched her disappear into the open door of the elevator. I wondered if she was also staying at the Continental Palace. I figured I had some extra time, so I picked up a morning paper, not realizing it was not in English, and walked outside. The morning air was cool and crisp. I walked across Tu Do Street to the café and began thinking about what to order. Inside the café, there was fruit display and some pastry on display. It looked Interesting, but I did not recognize the type of fruit or the pastry. I noticed that the woman on duty was the same woman that had been on duty the night before. Speaking English, I asked what the fruit was called, what was inside the pastry, if they had coffee, and how much it cost. She did not seem to understand my English. “Vietnamese?” she asked. “No,” I responded, and shook my head side to side. I did not speak Vietnamese, but I had learned that in addition to Vietnamese language, many locals also spoke French. This woman looked to be middle aged, so she was probably here when the French were here. As for me, je parle un petit peu Francais. However, I thought it was worth a try, so I said, “parlez vous Francais?” She responded, “Oui, Vous etes prets a commander?” “Un moment,” I needed more time to decide what to order. I decided to give up on the mystery fruit, and the mystery pastry. Then, I saw a

picture on the counter offering a special breakfast omelette, and I noticed that one of the other customers had ordered it. It had avocado in it and looked good to me. Speaking French, I ordered. “Oui…Je voudrais petit dejeuner… omelette au avocado, croissant, et café au lait, si vous plait.” As far as the coffee was concerned, I did not know what to expect, but I knew I needed some wake-up caffeine, and according to Donna, it was safe to drink. When I offered US money to pay, the woman said “No dollar… Dong!” I held my hands out and shrugged to indicate I had no dong. The woman said, “It okay. Wait for lady.” Apparently, she spoke some English after all. Then, the woman asked my name. “Quel est votre nom?” “Je m’appelle Peter,” I told her. “Peter, Je m’appelle Han.” The rest of what she said was hard for me to understand. “Prenez place je vous en prie. Je vais apporter votre repas vous.” I think she wanted me to sit down until she brought the food. I found an empty table and sat down, hoping that Donna would arrive soon. I was very happy when she arrived a few minutes later. After we exchanged greetings, Donna walked to the counter, spoke to the woman in Vietnamese, and then returned to my table with a dish of that mystery fruit I was eyeing earlier. I explained that I had not paid. “Not to worry. I just talked with Han and I took care of your bill.” “Thank you. Han was very patient with my language difficulties. We got by with her French, which is excellent, and mine, which is poor. I tried to ask her what that fruit is that you are eating, but I do not think she understood my question and I did not get an answer.” “Oh, this…It is called Jackfruit…sweet and juicy…very popular here, it is grown in the Mekong Delta. The fruit itself is large like a watermelon, but Han, or her assistant, has opened it up, removed the lobes of fleshy meat, and sliced it up. You are welcome to try a piece.” “Well okay, just a taste. Hmmm… It is different… Looks like slices of artichoke or raw potato. It tastes sweet, and it’s chewy like a gum drop.” “Want more?”

“No thanks,” I replied. Donna chuckled and said “Sounds like you are not quite sure what to make of it. Perhaps it is an acquired taste.” Then I changed the subject. “I noticed you speak Vietnamese with Han. Do you know each other?” “Yes, I have come here off and on for about a year. Han has taught me to speak Vietnamese, and I have tried to teach her some English.” I was about to ask if Donna had taken care of the business she had to attend to earlier, but before I could, she began to talk in a very matter of fact manner about something else. “Peter, before we go, I need to talk to you about currency and economics here in Saigon. I will make it brief. In Saigon there are three currencies in use, the US dollar, the military payment certificate or MPC, and the South Vietnamese Dong. Sometimes you will hear the South Vietnamese currency referred to as Piasters. Officially, one US dollar equals one MPC dollar. One dollar equals one hundred eighteen dong officially, and one hundred fifty dong on the free market. Legally, the locals are only allowed to circulate the dong, and they are not allowed to possess MPCs. You will quickly see that this is not enforced. No one is allowed to use dong or dollars at the military bases or commissaries. To help you get started I have been authorized to give you this envelope. It contains five thousand dong and one hundred MPC dollars. Any more may not fit in your wallet.” I began stuffing nine 500-Dong notes, four smaller denomination notes, and five 20-dollar MPCs into my wallet as she continued to talk. She was right; it barely fit. “You can exchange your US dollars at the Saigon bank for dong, or on the street at a higher rate. You can exchange your US dollars at the military base for MPCs when you need more. When you go home, the embassy will take care of your final exchange. The money I just gave you will be deducted from your . Another thing you need to know is that unless something is scarce, whatever it costs in the States probably costs a third of that here.” Then she changed the subject. “We need to get going. I have scheduled our meeting at the Embassy for zero eight thirty hours, but the traffic may be a problem and we need to go through a security check to get in. I want to be on time. Do you have

your port?” I nodded yes and pointed to my tro pocket. “I am ready to go whenever you are.” We walked back across Tu Do Street to a parking area behind the Assembly Building between the Continental Palace and the Caravelle Hotels. When we arrived, I looked around but saw no evidence of her jeep. “Where is your Jeep?” “We are taking my bike today…too much traffic for the Jeep.” We walked over to a red late model Honda Motorbike (or was it a Susuki). She unlocked the chain, pulled the bike out from the parking rack, and lowered two footrests that were toward the rear of the bike. Donna got on the front part of the seat, and motioned for me to hop on the back. I did so, as she kick started the engine. I was still trying to find the footrests with my feet when she abruptly sped away and turned sharply to the left. I felt my body falling backward and then sideways. I instinctively reached for the nearest thing I could, her waist, and perhaps a bit more. The bike suddenly stopped, and my body lurched forward pushing up against her back. Donna turned her head and sternly asked, “What are you doing?” “Donna, I have never ridden on the back of a motor cycle before. I apologize if I did something wrong, but I think I need to hold onto something.” “All right, but just watch where your hands go, or I’ll let you off and you can walk.” “Yes Ma’am!” I replied. She may have been having fun with me because I am sure I saw a smile on the side of her face and maybe heard a muffled chuckle as well. We arrived at the U.S. Embassy building, not too far from the river. Donna explained that this building was still being used until the new embassy building was completed. She said that security was the main concern. She said that the barricades we were looking at were added after the bombing in 1965. Then Donna pointed out the building she worked in next door to the Embassy, and said that the troop buildup and the additional number of agency employees was also a reason for new quarters. Her office would probably move as well, but she did not know when.

We ed through a guardhouse; Donna showed the guard a badge and I showed my port. The guard, a marine, let us through. We found a place to park and chain the bike. Then we entered the embassy, went up some stairs, and signed in. I was given a visitors badge and we went down a corridor to the office of Colonel Abernathy. The Colonel welcomed me to Saigon, and addressed me as Mr. Troutman. As we shook hands, I said I was pleased to be here and hoped that my process would be of help. He then introduced Donna and me to Captain Weisman. I could not help but notice the expressions on the faces of Captain Weisman and Donna as they shook hands. I wondered if perhaps they had met before, but if they had, they did not let on. The Colonel asked for my port and had his assistant create an appropriate ID badge while we met. He explained the embassy already had a file on me and my port was all he needed for verification. “Mr. Troutman, I am asg you to work with Captain Weisman until the PEN is fully implemented and tested. Hope you don’t mind the abbreviation PEN for ‘Probabilistic Event Network’. The military is big on mnemonics and acronyms.” “Not a problem sir,” I replied. The Colonel continued, “After we are done here, I need to meet with Donna on another subject. Perhaps you could drive over to the computer lab with the Captain. He can explain what has been done so far, introduce you to his staff, and you can get started on your mission. Are we good?” “Yes sir. We’re good.” Just then, the Colonel’s assistant returned. “Mr. Troutman, I need you to sign these forms. I see that your security clearance has special provisions. Those special provisions allow you to work at the facility to which you were assigned, but without access to documents or materials that are above ‘Top Secret’. The ‘special provisions’ also mean that you may not leave Vietnam unless you come here first and notify us. To insure that happens, we will hold your port until you leave Vietnam. Here is your identification document. Keep it with you at all times. Use it like a badge to access your work location, the guard here at the embassy, or gain entry to most of the military Commissaries, and BOQs. You have privileges equivalent to a second Lieutenant.”

I glanced over at Donna. “Don’t worry Peter; I will catch up to you later.” I took a quick look at my new ID. It said Military Assistance Command (MACV) across the top. Down further it said Civilian Non Combatant. In a field labeled “Rank/status” it said O1 Equiv. The ID card had my port picture on it as well. Then, I heard Captain Weisman say, “Let’s go,” so I slipped my new ID badge into my pants pocket before I could read the whole thing. I would say that Captain Weisman was in his mid-thirties. He looked to be in decent shape, about 180 pounds, five foot ten. He had a flat top of brown hair and hazel eyes. He had a pleasant rounded face. Captain Weisman and I walked out of the building together and toward a parking area that held several jeeps. He spoke as we walked. His tone was friendly and comforting, not harsh or authoritarian. “Mr. Troutman, hope you do not mind riding in a jeep. It is my primary mode of transportation. I am not entitled to have a regular driver but I enjoy driving, so it is not a problem.” “It’s not a problem Sir. In fact, this will be my second Jeep ride since arriving yesterday.” We hopped in and we drove off. As we drove, I tried to pay attention to where we were I could see that we were driving away from the river, but not too many street signs. I could not help but ask, “Captain Weisman, Sir, I was wondering what is the name of this street?” “We are on Pasteur. It was named after the famous French doctor, Louis Pasteur,” he replied. He continued. “Mr. Troutman, Colonel Abernathy tends to be rather formal and adhere to official protocol. This is especially true when he is at his office in the embassy. He gives orders and needs to maintain his image of authority. He needs to be addressed as ‘Sir.’ However, I tend to be much less formal. We are analysts and technicians, not on the battlefield. I want the environment we work in to be relaxed and the people in my group to talk with each other without being concerned so much about rank. Therefore, you do not need to address me as Sir. You can just call me “Captain” if you wish, or even my first name is okay.” “What is your first name, Sir? I mean Captain.”

“My first name is Betzalel.” “A very interesting name,” I responded, “but I think I prefer to call you Captain.” The Captain chuckled. “Good choice. I think my parents had a strange sense of humor when they picked it, but they died in the Holocaust when I was young, so I never really found out why they named me that.” “Perhaps it has some special meaning,” I suggested. “Well actually it does. According to scripture, Betzalel built the portable tabernacle that the Jews took with them while in the desert for forty years. Perhaps there is a parallel to the mission we are about to begin?” I was tempted to tell the Captain that I was not Jewish but I decided to hold my tongue. Instead I said, “Captain you do not need to address me as Mr. Troutman, just call be Peter.” “Okay, I will call you Peter. Sometimes I tend to talk too much. Tell me about yourself.” I gave the Captain a quick summary of how I came to be there, but before I could say too much, we arrived at our destination at 137 Pasteur. Like so many places, it was a guarded compound with barricades and a guardhouse A guard checked us in at the gate. The building appeared to be an old style apartment building, or even a long multistoried motel. It had five stories, and went back lengthwise from the street. According to the Captain, Michigan State University used it until 1962 when MACV took it over. We drove through, parked the jeep, and walked into the building through a side entrance on the first level. I followed him to his office on the first level, and we talked briefly. The Captain said that he wanted to introduce me to everyone on his project team. First on the list was Danny. Danny had a desk next to the Captain’s office. I noticed that Danny was an army Staff Sergeant. Danny appeared to be somewhat effeminate, but very congenial. The Captain asked him to make up a basement for me. “Yes Captain, will do.” Danny then turned to me. “Mr. Troutman, please fill out this form and sign it.” I did so.

“Danny I am pleased to meet you. You can call me Peter.” Then, the Captain and I set off for the computer room. The computer room was below ground. To get there we had to use a badge reader before going down a flight of stairs. As we descended, I could feel the skin on my arms cooling down. The computer, tape drives, a disk storage unit, printers, and consoles were in a separate raised floor air-conditioned room in the center of the basement. Entry required another badge read. An aisle ran along one outside wall of the raised floor room. Along the aisle were workrooms, a key punch room, a card reader room, and four small cubicles. A section of the wall separating the aisle from the computer room had little windows that reminded me of a food automat I had visited in Manhattan when I was a child. I had seen this before at college, but not at TGW. The windowed boxes had locks on them and some of these boxes contained computer printouts. The Captain introduced me to Jim McDermott, an army Chief Warrant Officer with three bars, fully commissioned I understood. Jim managed the computer room. I asked what model computers these were, but before he could answer, another fellow came up behind me and answered, “An IBM 7094-II system, an IBM 1410 system, and a communications controller are in there. My name is Bob Nunn; I am the IBM Systems Engineer. My job is to manage and maintain the systems. I have been trying to get the Captain an IBM System 360, but the red tape is slowing us down.” Aside from me, Bob was the only one not wearing a military uniform. His shortsleeved white shirt and necktie seemed somewhat out of place. I later learned that Bob was one of a handful of civilians that IBM had sent to the war effort and that IBM expected them to follow a certain dress code. Bob explained the printout boxes. “That is how we do things at IBM, when there are multiple people or departments using a data center, and where security is required. In this case, there are at least seven other project teams within MACV sharing the computer room.” We then turned our attention back to Jim. “Sorry for that. Bob can be a bit overbearing at times, but we could not get along without him. Mr. Troutman, welcome aboard. Unfortunately, I have to run to a meeting. However, if you need anything my assistant Chan can help you out. If he is busy in there, just dial him on this intercom phone here by the door.” I could see Chan through the glass

in the access door to the raised floor. He was busy mounting a tape on a tape drive. Then the Captain introduced me to Jeff, a Navy Warrant Officer. “Jeff will be the one you will be directly working with to complete the implementation of the PEN. Jeff is an expert programmer. I would like the two of you to meet tomorrow morning.” He looked at Jeff and said, “This afternoon I will give Peter an overview of the project and where we are with it. You guys can go into detail tomorrow.” As we left to go back upstairs, the Captain told me that after the PEN was up and running another individual would be part of his team and be responsible for istering what went into and out of the computer room. Her name was Lt. Nguyen. She was with the South Vietnamese Women’s Armed Forces Corps or WAFC, but she needed to finish officer training school and would not arrive until after I was gone in about six weeks. “Captain you seem to have a very diverse group of people working with you, many backgrounds”. “You are exactly right Peter, we have purposely done it this way so as to maximize our intelligence as a group and also because this is supposed to be a South Vietnamese war as much as it is ours, which is why Nguyen will be ing us.” “Captain, I am still a bit fuzzy on the organization as to who reports to who. For example, are you responsible for more than one project? It sounded like Jim is servicing multiple projects. Does he report to you?” “It can be a little confusing at first. John and Chan report to Jim. Jim, reports to a lieutenant who manages several data centers who reports to a regional Captain who reports to a full Colonel who is responsible for all of the data centers in Vietnam. The Pen project is my only project responsibility. Bob was correct that there are multiple projects sharing the center. Most, including mine, are part of SOG. SOG used to stand for Special Operations Group, but the politicians decided that they could not put an organization with a reputation for being assassins on an organization chart. So, they added some intelligence processing functions and renamed it the Studies and Operations Group. Danny and Jeff report directly to me, as will Lieutenant Nguyen when she arrives. Meanwhile

you and an intelligence officer who I call Sam are also on the project as contractors. Sam has a doctorate degree as well as battlefield experience. Like you, he is contracted to us by an outside firm. In his case, I think it is the Rand Corporation. I meet with Sam at least once per week on Friday mornings and we create and maintain the PEN network of events. I report directly to Colonel Abernathy, who you met earlier. Then there is the CIA. As you know the CIA initiated this project and they keep tabs on what is happening through Colonel Abernathy, through Sam, and in other ways that I am not supposed to be aware of.” “Wow!” I exclaimed. “This is not the regimented structure that I had expected the military to have. It sounds similar to a management concept I studied in school called matrix management.” “All of the projects here require this type of organization to be effective. It seems to work and I like it. By the way, everyone on this project has a security level of at least ‘Top Secret,’ so that we can freely talk with each other while we work and help each other out. In your case, you have a special clearance that allows you to go above that level, but only with special authority from the Colonel. Your clearance also restricts you to matters concerning this particular project.” When we arrived back at the Captain’s office, it was lunchtime. The Captain said he had a prior engagement but offered Danny to take me to lunch and show me the neighborhood. I was hoping to try my new ID badge at an officer’s club, but that would have to wait for another day. Danny was very interesting. He only had enlisted men’s privileges, but he knew of a reputable street vendor nearby. I could not say what we ate, but I was hungry and decided I could trust Danny’s recommendation. “Danny where are you from?” “Phoenix, Arizona.” “How long have you been working for the Captain?” “Only about three months.” “Have you been in Vietnam very long?” “About six months.”

“What did you do?” “I was working as a supply clerk. It was boring. I am hoping this job will be more interesting.” “What do you think of the Captain so far?” “I like him. He is not your typical military authority figure, yet he seems to have everyone’s respect.” “Does the Captain have any particular rules about when we come and go to the office or to lunch?” “Well, he generally wants me to be there when he is there. He often takes me with him to meetings, but there are some meetings that he goes to on a regular basis that are above my clearance level.” As we talked, I found out that he had an American Indian heritage, but given the sunny weather in Saigon, his complexion was not much different from many others. He was single and about 22 years of age. I liked him. When we returned, Danny had me follow him to another part of the building where we picked up my new badge to get me into the basement where I would be working. Shortly thereafter, the Captain returned, and we went into his office so he could give me a rundown on the project. The Captain and I spent the next three and one-half hours going over the project plan with him asking me many questions. The Captain seemed to enjoy answering my questions and then some. We mingled a lot of small talk in with the project stuff. The Captain said that they had already created a network of about twenty-five events. They had numbered the events by tens, from ten to one thousand, to leave room to add more events later. However, they also planned to leave room at the top end so that they could add additional dependent events later. For example, if Event 500 is a target event, and then Event 500 actually occurs, they may then want to add a subsequent Event 510. The Captain asked for my opinion on the numbering scheme, which I agreed to. I asked where the intelligence came from. The Captain said that he and Sam met

regularly with CIA analysts who provided the intelligence needed to construct the Probabilistic Event Network (PEN). The CIA already had an intelligence database in Thailand, but in addition, information came from local sources. Intelligence sources included interrogations of captured Vietcong, newspaper articles, politicians, and the army of South Vietnam (ARVN). Some information came from aerial surveillance of troop movements, tunnel construction in the South, or traffic coming down the Ho Chi Minh Trail. Some information came from intercepted or bugged voice communications. The CIA also conveyed information it got from unknown sources. The sources and the amount of information were endless and voluminous. According to the Captain, there was more information than could be processed solely by humans to the point of reaching meaningful conclusions or predictions. That was why they needed a computerized PEN. The Captain then said that over the next three weeks, he wanted me to help the logic and the dependency rules he chose to apply. However, he made it clear that producing and testing the coded computer process was the primary reason for my being here. He mentioned that I would meet with Jeff tomorrow and I would be spending a lot of time with him over the next three weeks or so. “Peter, one of the things Jeff has asked is what logic he would apply for stepping through the network. He asked where he would start. With multiple starting points and multiple endpoints in the network, he was not sure how to code it.” “I have a process all worked out. I will go through it with him tomorrow morning when we meet.” “I would also like you to come to our project status meeting every Friday afternoon.” “I will do that Captain.” It was about 1700 hours when the Captain suggested that I might want to call it a day. “You are probably tired and may not have adjusted to the new time zone yet.” “I am okay. What are the normal work hours here anyway?” “Zero eight hundred to seventeen hundred hours.”

“I guess I will see you in the morning then.” “How are you getting back to your hotel?” he asked. It then dawned on me that I was not thinking. “Guess I will walk,” “Peter, where are you staying?” “I am staying at the Continental Palace Hotel.” He chuckled. “Well you could walk, but it is a long walk on a hot afternoon. I would be happy to give you a lift. I live in the Rex, which is only two blocks away from your hotel. I can also give you a lift in the mornings if you can be ready by zero seven thirty hours.” “Thanks Captain, I would appreciate that.”

****

That night, as I lay in bed, I could not help but notice the sounds coming from the outside, people talking, motor bike engines, and a few distant explosions. However, after a while, the sounds began to die down. I began to fall asleep, only to be interrupted by an unusual repetitive chirping sound. It seemed to be coming from inside my room. Perhaps it was a cricket, but the sound seemed different. It began to annoy me, so I turned on the small lamp next to my bed and scanned the room in the direction of the sound. “Oh my gosh! What is that?” I said to myself. There on the wall next to the armoire, I could see what looked like a small green lizard. The sudden light caused him to stop chirping. I walked over to him to get a closer look. I must have spooked him because right away he took cover in the narrow space between the armoire and the wall. Okay, I did not really know its gender, but I chose to say “he” for convenience. The next morning I mentioned my discovery to the houseboy. In his broken English, he told me that it was a gecko and that they were quite common. He also told me that if I were to protect it, it would bring me good luck. The gecko came out every night. I had to it he was cute, but his incessant chirping was

annoying and keeping me awake at night. On three occasions, I attempted to remedy the situation by capturing it in a box that I planned to unload outside somewhere, but he was too quick. He always managed to scurry back behind the armoire before I could get him. Finally, after a week of trying, I gave up and resigned myself to the idea that I would just have to live with him. I acclimated, and after a while, the chirping was hardly noticeable. In fact, he actually grew on me to the point where I decided to name him “Freddie.” Please don’t ask me why I named him Freddie.

7 GETTING THE JOB DONE

On Tuesday, I was up early, showered, got dressed, ed my two new badges, had a quick bite to eat, and met the Captain in front of the hotel with briefcase in hand. “Good morning Peter. Climb in.” “Good morning Captain…Nice morning.” On the way to work, I asked the Captain about the street address of the buildings I had ed yesterday and today. I was trying to make sense of what I had observed. “Captain, what is the logic to how the street addresses are numbered? I had noticed that the Continental Palace was one thirty-two, but the Givral was one sixty-nine, and when we drove up Pasteur yesterday, we ed number one forty long before we came to one thirty-seven. However, in both cases, I noticed the numbers got larger as you went away from the river.” “Yes. It took me awhile before I figured it out, but there actually is some logic to it. If the street is heading Northwest, like TuDo, Pasteur, or Hai Ba Trung, the numbers increase as you move further in that direction, in that case moving away from the river. The numbers on the right side of the street are always even numbers and those on the left are always odd numbers. As you have observed the numbers on the right side are out of step with those on the left side. I can only speculate as to why that is. Possibly the numbers were based on the original properties and not on distances.” “Wow, do I dare ask how the cross streets are numbered?” “The cross streets run to the Northeast. However, they are running toward the river where it snakes down from the North. The numbers start at the Cholon boarder and decrease as you head to the Northeast. Oh and there are some exceptions, but we can save that for another day.” “Thanks Captain.” What else could I say? Apparently, the Captain and I both had a good head for detail. After I arrived in the building, I cheerily said hello to everyone. The next thing I

did was to go down the stairs to the data processing area, and set up a place for myself in one of the vacant cubicles. I was eager to get started. The cubicle had no desk but the table I found would work just fine, and I also had my briefcase. I could always keep stuff locked up in that. Although Jeff had a small office upstairs, he had also set up camp downstairs in another cubicle nearby. It made sense for him to be near the computer. My meeting with Jeff went well. I would describe Jeff as a nerdy looking guy, about five foot nine, wearing glasses. Jeff was a Warrant Officer. He sported a crew cut, but unlike the flat top that I had and the Captain had, Jeff’s was more rounded. Since we would be working together for the next three or four weeks I wanted to know more about him. He told me he had been in the military for about three years now. “I had no money, so I enlisted. I worked my way to Ensign and after I reenlisted, the Navy promised that I could make a career out of the Navy and become a computer programmer. They promoted me to Warrant Officer. I never thought my assignment would be on land. Funny how things work out, but I am doing what I always wanted to do; I am writing computer code. What is your story, Peter? Were you in the military?” I responded, “To be honest, I did not consider myself soldier material, and my draft board was not eager to get me, so I went for education. Of course, Vietnam was not a war yet. I got a bachelor’s degree in engineering and a master’s degree in operations research from Cornell. Now I am working on an MBA.” I wanted to tell him that I was poor as well, and paid my own way through college, but that might seem like one-upmanship, so I resisted. “I developed this probabilistic network process and when I was given the chance to come here I jumped at it because I saw it as something I could do for my country.” (John F. Kennedy would have been pleased). “Where are you going to get your MBA?” he asked. “My employer is paying for me to go to The University of Rochester at night.” “Peter, I went to RIT and got a two year degree there.” “Are you from Rochester?” I wanted to know. “Nearby, I grew up near Sodus Point just to the East of Rochester. I spent a lot of time sailing and fishing on Lake Ontario.”

“I am actually employed by TGW,” I told him. “They have an apprentice program with RIT.” “Yes, I knew about that, but did not want to be a tool and die maker. I decided that computer programing was what I wanted and here I am.” “Well, if you get back to the Rochester area you should look me up, we can get together.” I was glad we had something in common, other than work. Jeff and I then settled down to work. The technical discussions went something like this: “Peter, what is the logic for stepping through the network to calculate event probabilities. How do you decide which events to calculate first?” I answered, “You start with the lowest numbered event that has precedents. If all of the precedents already have known probabilities then you calculate the probability for that event. Then move on to the next numbered event, etc.” “Will there always be an event that meets your starting criteria?” “Absolutely…there must be at least one. And after you calculate that one, there must be at least one more.” “Okay, I cannot quite visualize it yet, but I am sure you are right. I think I will program it using Assembler Language.” On Tuesday evening, I had supper with the Captain at the Rex. We talked. Actually, the Captain did most of the talking. “I have lived here for about a year now. Only officers are housed here. The quarters are not bad, but it is two to a room. My roommate works in Cholon, so I do not see too much of him, except on weekends. This place has a store, the restaurant you are in now, and a bar and swimming pool on the roof.” The Captain spoke with enthusiasm as if he were on a vacation and describing a resort. “Do you like to swim?” he asked me. “I am so-so on it, I easily burn, but I am interested in checking it out.” “Well the only downside of the pool is that there are rarely any women to look at. They are allowed; there just aren’t any. Of course, no women are housed here either. The Rex is a BOQ. BOQ stands for ‘Bachelor Officer Quarters.’ The few women that are in Saigon either stay with nurse and Red Cross workers or they have villas or apartments.”

“What about the restaurant where we are now?” “Of course sometimes women will come to eat here. Actually I met Donna, your USAID hostess, here one evening several months ago. She was by herself, so she obviously has dining privileges here. The men were not very civil to her. I felt sorry for her. I went over to her table and pulled rank on a lieutenant that seemed to be harassing her. She essentially told me thank you, but she could handle it herself…a tough cookie, I thought. I think she was embarrassed but she kept it to herself. She left shortly afterward. Don’t think she finished her meal.” Changing the subject, the Captain asked if I had been in the military. I had been asked that so many times since arriving in Saigon that I thought how convenient it might be if I could just pull out a script from my pocket and hand it to anyone who asked. Perhaps I just felt a little defensive about the need to justify to military people why I was not in the military. However, I quickly dismissed these thoughts as non-productive. Besides, I really wanted to get along with everyone, especially the Captain, so I told him the whole truth. I had one of my favorite meals that night, baked chicken, mashed potatoes, and peas. I thought the food was prepared very well. After we ate, he gave me a tour of the place. I told him I really enjoyed the meal. He said we could do it again on Thursday night if I wished. “That would be great, I look forward to it.” I established a good report with the Captain. Over the next four weeks, the Captain and I had dinner together at the Rex several times, and I went over to the Rex by myself a few times. My ID card gave me Lieutenant level privileges, and after a small fee, I was able to pay on a meal-to-meal basis. The price of a meal at the Rex and at other BOQ dining areas was about one-third of what it would cost at a regular restaurant. One could thank the US taxpayers for that. On Wednesdays, I met with the Captain and I answered questions about the rules used to link the events. The Captain presented me with a few unique event relationships that required additional math and additional FORTRAN coding on my part. If he were not sure as to what relationship rules to select from my standard set, he would ask for help. Sometimes I would need to add a rule and create the math for a special circumstance. Meanwhile, Jeff and I continued to talk almost daily about the specs and the code logic; and how he would access and use various files, especially the Rules

File that contained my FORTRAN coded math. I also kept him informed about FORTRAN code that I was still writing because the Captain had some special situations. As code was completed, we both participated in the testing and the checking. That first Wednesday, the Captain and I also talked about allowing the programs to run in a simulation, or “sandbox” mode. This seemed like a great idea. When I came up with the original network concept, I had not given much thought to events that were aimed at countering other events. However, as this was a military application, I began to see its relevance. The military did not just want to know the probability of an attack by the enemy; they also wanted to know the probability of stopping it if they took various counter measures. A simulation mode would allow the evaluation of possible changes in the inputs, including possible counter events. If counter measures required special rules, I would need to design the rules and the math. However, the task of creating a job control process for simulation would be primarily one for Jeff. It would require special database management, and it would need to be kept separate from the “official” runs each week. I agreed to help Jeff on this where needed, but it was quite clear that our primary objective would be to complete the job control process for the official weekly runs before focusing on simulation. I was very pleased that the Captain differed from the usual military officer. Whereas I would describe most as literal, black and white thinkers, the Captain was conceptual. For security reasons, he could not tell me what the events actually were so we discussed situations in abstract and metaphorical . I thought we communicated quite well with each other.

****

I had been expecting Donna to be in touch again based on what she said on Monday. It was late when I got back to my hotel that first Wednesday night, so I did not check my mailbox until Thursday morning. On Thursday morning, I found a note in my mailbox. It was a handwritten note from Donna.

Peter I want to meet with you on Thursday evenings at 1800 hours for status and any issues. Donna

The note did not say where we should meet, and she had never left instructions on how I could reach her. I had no choice but to cancel my dinner plans with the Captain, so that I could meet with Donna. I was annoyed. That evening, just before 1800 hours, I was about to go down to the lobby and look for Donna when there was a knock on my door. It was Donna. “Peter, I apologize, for imposing, but can we meet in your room?” I was caught off guard but how could I say no. “Of course, come in. Feel free to make yourself comfortable in the arm chair.” As she sat down, I pulled the wooden chair out from the desk, and straddled it with the chair back in front of me, facing her. “I apologize for not getting back with you since we parted at the Embassy. Something came up that kept me busy for the past two days. I will try not to take up too much of your time. Just give me a run-down of how you are doing. Are you fitting in with the team? What do you think of the Captain? Are there any issues?” Although she had apologized, I was still a little annoyed at her for the sudden inconvenience. I responded curtly. “We are making progress on the code. I am getting along with everyone just fine. I think the Captain is great. No issues.” She must have sensed some irritability in my voice. “Peter I am just doing my job. I am supposed to maintain a good rapport with you. Apparently, I am not doing that very well right now. I will go now and let you be. If you need anything, you can me by leaving a note in mailbox number three fourteen here at the Continental Palace.” “No, Donna wait! I am a little irritable right now. I get that way when I am hungry. I have not had any supper yet. I did not see your note until this morning and had to cancel my dinner plans. Next time could we either meet over supper,

or meet at nineteen hundred hours rather than eighteen hundred hours? And, while we are at it, we are both civilians; can we just say we will meet at seven PM?” “Well, according to protocol, it is better if we meet where no one else can overhear us. That would rule out supper.” I kind of shrugged at that as I thought her concern for protocol was excessive. “Okay Peter, listen. Come over to the café with me. I will ask Han to fix something for you. But, you need to promise that you won’t mention our involvement with the CIA or say anything about the project.” I responded quickly. “Donna, you need to trust me.” “I will try to, but I have been trained to always be wary.” We walked across the street. It was getting dark, but the street was still busy with people and mopeds. We entered the café and we both said hello to Han. There were several other customers, but we took a table in a corner of the room where we could hear each other talk. Donna walked over to Han and ordered something for me to eat, and she ordered a cup of tea for herself. I do not know what I was eating but I really was hungry and I felt much better afterward. “Donna, I apologize for my crabbiness earlier and I thank you for your consideration for my hunger. I feel much better now. How much do I owe you by the way?” “It’s okay. It’s on me. I should have been more sensitive.” Then she started a conversation. “Tell me…where have you eaten so far?” “Aside from here, I have been to the Rex, The Brinks, and the Italian restaurant at The Continental Palace. Where do you eat?” “I generally eat at home. I have an apartment with a small kitchen.” Until I heard this, I thought she stayed in room 314 at The Continental Palace. “Where-abouts?” I asked. “Sorry, I can’t say.”

“Hmmm…Where do you go when you get tired of cooking? Do you ever eat at any of the officer messes, like the Rex?” Needless to say, I was testing her. “I tried the Rex but it made me feel uncomfortable.” “How so?” “Well, there are rarely any women there and although they are all officers, they are almost all bachelors, and sex starved. They tend to leer and ogle at me. I won’t go back there again.” I was pleased that she trusted me enough to be open and honest about the Rex. I did not make mention of what the Captain had said to me Tuesday night. Instead, I replied, “Of course there is no excuse for that, but you are attractive.” “Thank you, but I do not think I’m that attractive, and I do not usually wear makeup or dress provocatively.” Then she changed the subject. “Peter, do you have any plans for the weekend?” “Nothing specific, but I definitely want to explore the city and the sites while I am here. And you?” “Nothing really, except for church service on Sunday.” “Any chance you could give me a ‘xe om’ tour on Saturday?” “Xe om” was a new term I picked up. It meant something like “taxi ride on a bike.” She paused before answering. I did not know if my pronunciation was way off, or if she was pondering the possible ramifications and implications of my request. Finally, she responded: “Okay, can you meet me out front of the Continental Palace at nine AM?” “Yes thanks. Sounds good; see you then.”

****

That Saturday, we toured Cholon. Originally, Cholon was what we would call “Chinatown” in the US. The Chinese first settled there in 1778. It became a separate city in 1879. As the populations of Saigon and Cholon grew, the two cities merged and became one in 1931. Cholon is known for its temples, its open-air market places, and its street food. The military also had a large post exchange (PX) in Cholon. We parked and chained the bike in a safe place. As we walked the streets, vendors were everywhere. I observed the locals preparing their food with bare hands, the same hands that also handled garbage and dirty dishes. I did not want to appear prissy in front of Donna so I kept those observations to myself. We bought food at locations that Donna recommended, including a strange fruit that we could eat while we walked. We witnessed an elaborate wedding festival, and several colorful temples. I had brought my camera and I took pictures. By the time we returned to the Continental Palace later that afternoon, I had shot a full roll of film, twenty-six pictures. After we finished exploring Cholon, we returned to Donna’s bike, and I asked her, “How did you come to have this bike? You seem very proud of it.” “I bought it. I really like it. It is practical and gets me around quickly. The bike is a nineteen sixty-seven Suzuki M31, but customized. It is more powerful than your typical moped as you already experienced. It has a fifty-five ‘cc’ two-stroke engine, rated at six horse-power, and I can go over fifty miles per hour if need be. Of course, there is not much opportunity with all of the traffic we have here. It runs well and as you may have noticed, oil consumption is minimal, very little blue smoke. The oil and gasoline is automatically pre-mixed. The bike also has larger wheels than your typical moped, but I wish the tires had a more aggressive tread for when the roads are wet. Technically, it is not a moped because you can’t pedal it. However, Suzuki calls it a moped. As you can see, the frame swoops down in front of the seat, and it has a wind deflector in front, allowing me to wear a dress if I want to do so. I even added a luggage rack on the back. I strapped a pouch to it containing a cover to protect the bike if it rains. However, if I go shopping, I still can’t carry containers or bags because there is no good way to secure them to the rack. I may need to get a bin that can clamp to the rack. The trick is figuring out how to secure it. The downside is that I can still get very wet during the monsoon season when it rains a lot. That is why I also have access to a jeep, when I need it.”

“I am impressed. Not too many women would have such a technical knowledge of a motorized bike.” “I doubt you will find me to be like most women.” Hoping not to get into a debate about the role of women in modern society, or possibly her sexual orientation, I simply replied, “That is good thing, I’m sure. May I take a picture of you sitting on the bike?” She agreed and I took two, in case one did not turn out; then, she took one of me. “May I ask you a question?” “What’s that?” “You seem to like your bike a lot. Have you given it a name?” “Uh…what?…a name? Not sure what you mean.” “Well like a pet. I know a guy who owns a Harley. Maxwell named his bike ‘Little John.’ He rides with a friend named Jack, and Jack named his bike ‘Big Max.’” “I see. What do you think I should name my bike?” “Oh, I don’t know. The bike is a Suzuki. How about ‘Little Suzie.’” “Could I ask you something?” “Sure” “Are Max and Jack by any chance homosexual?” “I…don’t know…They may be” “I bet they are, and I bet that Max is the dominant one, and John or Jack is the submissive one.” “You may be right. Max is rather controlling.” “I also bet that there is a question you have been just dying to ask me.” I think I knew what she meant but did not say anything. “It’s okay,” she said, “I’ll save

you the trouble. Despite my butch appearance, my military background, my interest in motor bikes, and my disappointing relationships with men as of late, I am not a lesbian. And I don’t need to get my jollies by riding a little girl named Suzie.” “Donna, I was not implying anything like that,” although I had to it to myself that I had been curious about her sexual orientation. “I obviously hit a nerve…didn’t mean too. I’m sorry.” She looked hard at me as if trying to size me up. “You did hit a nerve. Most of the women here are afraid of me, and most of the men I meet think I’m a sex object. It is very frustrating for me. I should not have reacted that way. It’s not your fault. You probably couldn’t care less about which way I go anyway. You’re happily married.” “Don’t be frustrated. You are a unique individual with a lot going for you…and actually, I do care. I find you to be a very interesting person.” Then, being genuinely curious, I asked her, “How did you become so knowledgeable about motor bikes?” “Well, I was in the military for two years and worked in the motor pool. I went to mechanic school and learned how to maintain jeeps and bikes. Are you surprised?” Not knowing how to respond I said something innocuous like “Not at all. You have a lot to be proud of.” Then I recovered and asked, “Why did you leave the military?” “They told me I had officer potential and the only opportunity for women officers in the army would be in the nurse’s corps. Nursing and medical stuff was not for me. I also did not like being told exactly how to do everything. The CIA gives me a great deal of autonomy to make my own day-to-day decisions and I like that. I ed the CIA a year ago. This is my first real assignment.” “Could I ask you a personal question?” “I suppose…What?” “How old are you?”

“How old do you think I am?” “Well you look like you are about twenty one, but that would be too young to have the military experience, your management position at USAID, and also be a trained CIA operative.” “Peter, you should have been a diplomat. I am twenty-four. I will be twenty five in three and a half weeks…March the seventeenth. I was born on St. Patrick’s Day.” “Does that mean you are Irish?” “Of course not. Don’t be silly…How old are you?” Although I thought she probably already knew the answer, I was polite. “I’m also twenty-four, but my birthday is not until November. I was born on Veterans Day.” “So, does that mean you are a veteran?” she quipped. I did not respond verbally to that, but I think she noticed me rolling my eyes at her retort. “Sorry Peter, I couldn’t resist…So tell me more about you. Why are you not in the military?” Here we go again I am thinking, but I was nice. I gave the same answer I had given others. However, I also told her “Like you, I am also independent minded and like to make my own day to day decisions. I often think outside the box and sometimes I do things that others do not expect. I am often viewed as nonconforming. I have the self-discipline to be a good soldier, but I do not know how happy I would be if I were one.” I looked for a reaction. She smiled and simply said “Peter, I think you are a very interesting person also.” I smiled back.

****

For the next four Thursdays, we had status meetings in my room at the Continental Palace at 7:00 PM, and we had xe om bike tours on the weekends. On the second Saturday, she allowed me to drive her bike… well, only after I begged. We had ridden up to the Tao Dan Park area. We had parked the bike on Truong Cong Dinh, a roadway that went between the Tao Dan Park on one side and the City Gardens on the other side. We were on foot and enjoyed the exercise and the scenery. The park housed a Buddhist temple at its Southeastern end, across the street from where the bowling alley was on my map. The Gardens housed the French sport club at its Northwestern end. The Cercle Sportif, as it was called, was well known. It served the French elite during the Colonial times, and it was known for its swimming pool and tennis courts. Not only were the park and gardens scenic and relaxing, but they were considered a tourist attraction then, as they are to this day. When we return to the bike, I made my request. “Donna, I did not tell you, but I also worked as a mechanic two summers, and although I have no experience with bikes, I do have experience with racing automobiles and working on them. I have a degree in mechanical engineering and I have an appreciation for mechanical things. I would really like to drive your bike.” She was surprised that I took such an interest. “After that first Monday I was not sure you would be into it. Now you not only enjoy riding but you want to drive. I guess we have a lot more in common than I thought. However, I have never let anyone operate my bike. Like you said, it is my pride and joy.” “Well would you at least be willing to teach me how to operate it. You could demonstrate.” “Hmm…well…Alright, she agreed.” Then Donna described each control. The front wheel brake and throttle were on the right handlebar. The rear brake was a pedal in front of the right footrest, and the gearshift was a pedal in front of the left footrest. She told me that normally the clutch would be on the left handlebar. However, on this model the clutch was automatically engaged when shifting gears with the left foot. I could not help but wonder how it got decided that on an automobile the gearshift was hand operated and the clutch foot operated, but on a motor bike, it was the reverse. It had a crank kick-start on the right. She demonstrated starting it up and shutting it

down. Then I begged. “Please let me try it. I will just go around the park. I’ll keep it in low gear. You can ride on the back and coach me if I need it.” I think she really was going to let me do this all along because without hesitation, she responded. “Well okay, I’ll trust you.” With that, we sped away, this time with Donna holding onto my waist.

****

On my third Saturday in Saigon, we parked, chained the bike to a post, and walked up to the rooftop bar atop the Majestic Hotel where we had a beverage and took in the view of the river. I had my camera and took pictures. It was a scenic view, but it was not long before we began talking about the war. She pointed to a place down the river where the Vietcong had set off two bombs outside the My Canh Café on the waterfront back in June of 1965. The restaurant was called the “floating restaurant” because it floated on the river like a barge. One walked a gangplank to access it. Donna said, “Dozens of innocent people were killed and injured. More than forty were killed. Nine were Americans, including a CIA operative and three Airforce supply officers that lived on the top floor of your hotel.” Donna continued, “Bombings like these tend to occur at unexpected times and places. Wouldn’t it be great if we could predict these bombings?” (Of course, we both knew that was the purpose of the PEN project.) “I find it difficult to see people die, especially people I know. Perhaps I will eventually get used to it. That Tuesday and Wednesday, the first week you were here, I was called away to a place up country from here. A CIA colleague had been killed while on a mission in the field. We had a ceremony and I was asked to escort his body back to Saigon and assure it got onto a plane home to the United States. I found that very difficult.” She paused and I sensed she was starting to get emotional. I felt sympathetic. “Donna, I can only imagine what that must have felt like.”

Then she regained her composure and continued, “When I was in the military, women were not allowed in combat. Technically, they still aren’t, but they seem to be relaxing some of the restrictions. I did not see action so I did not have to deal with that kind of death until I came here, but if I pursue my career in the CIA, I know I will see more of it. The military trained me to shoot, and I got quite good at it. I am a ‘Sharpshooter’. I have privileges at an army target range, and by the way, I do own a gun.” “Have you ever had to kill anyone with it?” “No I haven’t, but who knows, I may have to someday. Peter, tell me something, do you think you could take a life?” “Well, I never owned a gun, and my only exposure to guns was when I was a boy scout. One of the leaders took us to an NRA firing range and we learned how to fire a twenty-two caliber rifle and to do it safely. My father never had a gun in the house either. I was not allowed to have a BB gun like some of my friends, and my father discouraged me from even having a cap pistol. However, to answer your question, I think that if someone was about to kill me I would not hesitate to defend myself, even if I had to kill them. Not sure if I would know how to do that though. Nevertheless, I do have a problem with some of the wholesale killing of innocent people that is occurring here in Vietnam.” “I think I have a problem with that as well,” she said. Now as I am looking at Donna across the table, I notice the shoulder bag she always seemed to have across her right shoulder and hanging on her left side. I could not help myself from asking, “Donna, are your carrying a gun right now? Is it in your bag?” There was no one nearby and I did not think I said that very loudly, but she looked around to see if anyone heard before answering. “If I said yes, would you disapprove?” “No, I have no problem with it. I believe that people who are responsible and properly trained should be allowed to own and carry guns. As for me, I have not had a need.” “Well to answer your question, I do carry it in my shoulder bag, but I do not have it with me today. Actually, it is a Colt forty-five and quite heavy, so I only

take it when I am at the shooting range, on a dangerous assignment, or outside alone at night. Otherwise I keep it locked up in my apartment.” We did a lot more touring and took many more pictures that afternoon. When we got back to the Continental Palace, it was early evening. Donna let me off the bike and was about to say goodbye when I interjected. “Donna do you have dinner plans or a date tonight?” She paused and then said “Peter I think we should talk.” “We can talk over supper. I will buy. Please. It is late and we both need to eat.” “Where do you want to go?” “How about right here at the Continental Palace?”

****

After parking the bike, Donna and I went up three steps from the sidewalk on Lam Son and entered The Continental Shelf. The “Shelf” was an open-air restaurant and bar area, a couple of feet above the sidewalk level on the ground floor of the hotel. The Shelf was at the corner of the building. Where there would normally be walls and windows there were archways open to both Tu Do Street and Lam Son Square. A canopy extended outward from above the open archways toward both streets and ran the length and width of the building above the sidewalks. The canopy and the overhead wooden fans inside the building provided adequate cooling from the hot sun. In late afternoon, blinds were often lowered from the street side of the canopy to block the rays of the bright setting sun. However, it was after 6:00 PM now and the sun was setting. The blinds had just been raised. One could relax, have a meal or a drink, and watch the bikes go by on the street. We sat down at a table away from the street, where it was more quiet and conducive to talking. After we ordered supper, I initiated the conversation. “Donna, you said we need to talk. What do we need to talk about?”

She wasted no time getting to the point. “Peter, I like you. We have enjoyed touring together, we have shared thoughts and feelings, but I wonder if maybe we are doing too much together. I mean…Well…Let me put it in the form of a question…If your wife were to learn of everything we have been doing together, the day trips, sharing the bike, the meals together, not to mention being in your room every week, what do you think she would make of it?” Her tone did not sound like she was threatening me, but I was not sure of her intent. “Donna, where are you going with this? Have I crossed a line? Have I made any unwanted advances toward you?” “No, you have been a perfect gentleman.” “We are friends aren’t we?” “I guess I am afraid of its becoming more than that for one or both of us. Tell me, if you were not married, would it be more than that for you?” “If I were not married I would be all over you, or at least I would want to be. I think you are really great. I enjoy your company. However, I am married. Can’t we just be business associates and friends?” “I don’t know if we can.” I took a moment to reflect upon what she just said. She said “we.” Did she mean the “royal we?” Did she mean herself, both of us, or just me? I never thought of myself as someone that she would take an interest in romantically. Could she possibly have those kinds of feelings for me? “What do you suggest we do?” “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to know what you were expecting, and let you know of my concern.” “Well, I appreciate you sharing your concern with me. The last thing I want to do is hurt you in some way.” “I don’t want to hurt you either.” “Donna, I think it will be okay with us. I think we should relax and not overthink

it.”

****

The following week Jeff and I were hard at work testing the function and the accuracy of the output of the programs. Jeff really was a whiz. We were running his code against real data in the fourth week. Before that, I had spent my time reviewing sample reports that we tweaked to the liking of everyone who would see them, reviewing the logic choices that the Captain chose for defining the relationships between events, and answering many questions for both Jeff and the Captain. In the fourth week however, the testing became much more demanding on my time. I spent hours and hours manually calculating probabilities to assure that the results were consistent with what was intended. My pen and paper and my slide rule became very useful tools. I found only a few discrepancies, a testament to Jeff’s good work. However, it had to be perfect; one wrong calculation could result in all dependent calculations being in error. That meant testing every single one of them. “Zero Defects” was the order of the day. All of this work had to be done at the office. For security reasons nothing went out of the building. Jeff had a file cabinet in his downstairs cubicle, so we made an extra key and I was able to store stuff in there overnight. That Thursday of the fourth week, I had my usual status review with Donna. I had to tell her it was taking longer than we had originally anticipated but that we were making progress. She asked if I had time to tour on the weekend, and I said that as much as I would like to, Jeff and I would have to work on Saturday. During the week, we had been lucky to get two computer runs a day, but that was not enough. The computer load was less on the weekend, and we figured we could get five runs counting Friday night and Saturday night. On Friday, we told the Captain the same as I had told Donna. He approved our extra work time. Jeff and I made great progress that Friday evening and all day Saturday. After the hard day’s work Jeff and I went over to the USO and played pool. I beat him two out of three games of eight ball. Although technically Jeff was a low level Warrant Officer, and not a commissioned officer, he was allowed to be in a BOQ. He also needed to be near his workplace and he often rode a bicycle to

work. For that reason, he was housed at the Ambassador (BOQ), which was next to the Caravelle. After playing pool, he invited me to come over and have dinner with him at the Ambassador. It was not quite the luxury dinning that was offered at the Rex, but I found it to be surprisingly good.

****

Finally, in the fifth and last full week I was in Saigon we were up, running for real, and getting usable and meaningful results. I reported all of this to Donna on Thursday. The only thing left was more documentation, a final report and instruction to the Captain. I told Donna that Jeff and I would take care of that tomorrow and on Monday. She said she was pleased that we were almost complete with our work. As she said this however, I sensed gloominess on her part. “Donna I just gave you good news. I got the project back on track and our mission is going to be a success. You do not seem overly joyed. Is something wrong?” “Peter, are your mom and Dad still together?” “Yes they are. Why?” “Were they always true to each other?” “As far as I know… Why, what is going on?” “Well tomorrow is my birthday, and today I received a letter from my mom. She hardly mentioned my birthday, but she told me that she and Dad had a big fight and she said he should move out.” I walked over to the easy chair where she was sitting, put my hand on her shoulder, and said, “Sit tight. I will be right back. I have something that may cheer you up.” Then I walked into the bathroom. I had not forgotten her Birthday. I had hidden a

cupcake, a candle, and a large humorous birthday card in the bathroom. I stuck the candle into the cupcake, lit it, and returned to the living room with it and the card while singing “Happy Birthday.” Donna’s face gleamed as I set everything down on the end table next to the chair. “Oh my God, Peter. I never expected this,” she said as she jumped to her feet, came over to me, grabbed me by the neck, and planted a hard kiss on my mouth. Then realizing what she had just done, she backed away and sheepishly said “oh please forgive me, I…I got carried away.” “It’s okay. Relax. It pleases me to know that you feel happy. Open the card.” She opened the card and read the message. She chuckled and then said “Peter, I think you are really a nice guy. Thank you so much.” Then after a pause, she continued. “I missed you last weekend, but now that the project is almost complete, does this mean you will have some free time this weekend? It will be your last weekend in Saigon. Is there anything else you would like to see or do before you go home?” “Yes I will have Saturday afternoon and evening free. I cannot think of anything specifically, but I am open to suggestions.” “Well, actually I would like to invite you to a party on Saturday night. Several of the people I work with at USAID have decided that my turning twenty-five, a quarter of a century, would be a good excuse for a party. They said I should bring a guest.” This was totally unexpected, and I wondered why she would pick me. “I feel honored that you would ask me, and of course I would love to be your guest, but I am curious, why me?” “I guess I feel safe and comfortable when I am with you, and since it is your last weekend in Saigon, I thought you would appreciate the opportunity to relax and unwind before you go home. To be honest I do have an ulterior motive as well. My boss at USAID wants to meet you.” “Why does your boss want to meet me?”

“The party is at John and Linda’s villa and includes a catered meal. Linda is who I report to at USAID. She has taken me under her wing so to speak, and can be a mother hen at times. However, I have known her for a year now and we have become friends. She is the only one I can confide in when it comes to girl stuff. I have told her about you, all good.” I looked quizzically at Donna and then she added, “I told her that you are married and that we are just friends.” “Okay, I am game. Where is this party? Were you going to pick me up on the bike?” “The party is a ways out on the North side of Saigon. It may take a while to get there. Will it be okay if I pick you up outside the hotel at seventeen hundred hours, I mean five PM?” “Sounds good to me. I appreciate the invite. I’ll see you then.”

****

Jeff and I gave our final status report to the Captain that Friday, March 17. The Captain had commandeered the office next to his and turned it into a “war” room of sorts. This is where he would meet with field operatives to review intelligence and update the events and probabilities in the network. In the center of the room was a large table with a complete diagram of the entire network. The Captain had depicted the events by circles with an event number inside. Lines, some penciled in, connected the events. Arrowheads showed direction of dependence. Back then, it was next to impossible to have a computer print the entire picture of a network, without resorting to “cut and paste.” Jeff was quite proud of the fact that he was able to print a separate page for each event showing the event and its connections to its precedent and dependent events. The Captain had cut and taped the whole network together from the individual pages printed by the computer. The Captain called it “The Big Picture.” By that time, the network had more than 70 events. I noticed more than one target event in the network. On March 14, these target events had calculated probabilities that varied from five percent to twenty percent. After our status meeting with the Captain, I went down to the canteen for a coke.

I was surprised to see Bob Nunn buying himself a cup of coffee. I had not seen him since that first week in the computer room. “Bob, how are you? Fancy meeting you here. Are there problems with the computer?” “No, I was just in the neighborhood and had stopped in to see Jim and leave some instructions for John over the weekend on how to reset the console. How is your project coming?” “Quite good. In fact, I expect to have everything wrapped up by next Tuesday. That means I will be homeward bound. Bob, do you have any time to talk?” “Sure. What’s up?” “Well, the company I work for, TGW in Rochester New York, is considering upgrading their computers. Right now, they have Control Data, but IBM makes frequent calls to win them over. I am one of the go-betweens they talk to at TGW. IBM also offers some seminars that I have contemplated attending. Anyway, I am interested in learning more about IBM. And, to be honest, I also have a personal interest. I have been working on an MBA degree at night. Things were delayed a bit due to this assignment, but I still expect to graduate in June a year from now. What do you think of IBM as a company to work for?” “IBM has given me the greatest opportunity of my lifetime. I am here on a twoyear assignment that I started in March of sixty-six. I am part of a new program and contract that IBM has with MACV. There are six of us in Saigon right now, as MACV buys more computing equipment from IBM, we will need more IBMers to that equipment. We consider it an adventure. All six of us are in our twenties like you. We are given the equivalent of officer status ranging from Lieutenant to Colonel and we all have security clearances that are at least ‘Top Secret’. Mine is above that level so that I can work inside data centers that provide to the CIA and military intelligence. IBM pays us our regular salary plus another seventy percent for living expenses. I also should tell you that all of us are unmarried, an IBM requirement. We work hard to our military clients, but we also have free time on weekends. One of IBM’s mottos has been ‘respect for the individual.’ That means that as long as we do not embarrass IBM we are free to use our free time as we wish. Peter, I am also interested in how you ended up here. You said that you have a job and go to night school. Does TGW provide technical or programming to the government?”

“Well actually, I developed the process that I am implementing here, but I did that on my own, not under any contract. My advisor in graduate school suggested the application to the military. He had a in the CIA and things went from there. I also see this as an adventure, although my five weeks is nothing compared to your two years. I also see it as a way to serve my country without being in the military.” “I assume you had student deferments.” “I did for five years, but night school does not qualify, and with the war building up, my draft board would have classified me as ‘One-A.’ I am married now. I hope to start a family and a career. Being drafted is not what I want. This assignment gives me a critical skills deferment. Were you in the military?” “No, I also had a student deferment but then I went to work for IBM. I had asthma when I was young, so they made me 4F because of that. However, like you, I also wanted to serve in some way. IBM decided that I was good at problem solving and often thought ‘outside the box’, so they made me this offer. I think that those of us that are here are thought of as ‘wild ducks’. I do not mind that label.” “That is interesting. People have always told me that I was an original thinker, and I have always considered myself a problem solver as well. Aside from being part of a minority of civilians amongst military people, perhaps you and I have something in common.” “You know, when you get your degree, you may want to consider IBM. Did you say this was your last weekend in Saigon? My roommate is spending time with his new girlfriend this weekend. I could use some company. How would you like to see parts of Saigon you have not seen yet?” “What did you have in mind?” “Well, this city used to be very French, and there are still some French restaurants left. My roommate is basic meat and potatoes, but I have been yearning for something more upscale. There is a place called La Cigale on the North side of the city. It also has a nightclub associated with it. If you are game, we could check it out. If that club does not pan out, there is another club back this way we can go to, and I know a girl that works there.”

“Okay, I am game. I assume you have transportation?” “Oh, yes, in fact IBM allows us to buy cars. I managed to buy a very used VW, but it does the job. It is almost 5:00 PM now. We could go right from here, if you like.” “Okay, I need to go back to my desk, put away some papers, and lock my briefcase up for the weekend.” Bob followed me to my office; I locked everything up for the weekend, and followed him out to his VW. As we drove over to La Cigale, I commented to Bob about the heavy and chaotic traffic we were encountering. The thing about traffic in Saigon was that there was a mix of autos, motor bikes, and pedaled vehicles. When work let out at the end of each day the streets were jammed, but what made it particularly troublesome was that no one seemed to abide by any rules. Drivers would go wherever they wanted, including opposing lanes and sidewalks if need be. Motorbikes would dart and weave between other vehicles. The traffic scene was very chaotic. My comment about the traffic led Bob to telling me a story. “Peter, I was once in a long line of traffic heading over to Cholon. When I approached the railroad tracks, a long freight train came by and everyone had to wait for the train to . However, vehicles that were behind me were impatient and decided to on my left. So there we were with two lanes of traffic waiting for the train to . When it finally did, it turned out that the vehicles on the other side of the tracks had done the same thing. So there we were with two lanes of traffic in each direction facing each other. Fortunately, most of the vehicles were bikes. Otherwise, it would have taken forever to get it sorted out.” Bob and I got to know each other that night. We had a great dinner, and we went to two nightclubs. He had a definite interest in women, but when two young ladies presented us with an opportunity for the night, I apologized and ed. We continued to talk to the ladies and to each other, but I am sure he was disappointed in my lack of interest in pursuing it further. He told me that he had a prior acquaintance with the one lady. He explained that in Saigon prostitution was widespread and not expensive. More and more young girls were forced to do this in order to make ends meet. Others were eager to form relationships with Americans because it would provide them with stability and security. Although he may have figured that he would go back and see her the next night, I

appreciated that he showed me respect and understanding and did not just dump me and let me take a taxi home. I went to sleep that night feeling glad that I had gotten to know Bob. I had a newfound respect for IBM and for Bob. As I would later find out, if that chance meeting with Bob in the Canteen that Friday had not occurred, future events may have turned out much differently than they did.

8 THE PARTY

On Saturday evening, Donna picked me up outside of my hotel at 5:00 PM as agreed. As always, I was eager to ride behind her on the bike. However, that evening Donna looked sexier and more attractive than I had ever seen her. She was wearing a tight fitting fancy white blouse and a pink skirt than barely came below mid-thigh. Her skirt was a bit more modest than a miniskirt, but it was short enough to reveal two very shapely legs. For early 1967 in Saigon, her short skirt was pushing the envelope of fashion and modesty. She had a narrow gold belt around her waist and tan colored flats on her feet. Her short-sleeved blouse opened at the top, revealing her gold chain necklace. Tonight she was wearing makeup, and it enhanced her already natural beauty. Golden earrings dangled from her ears, and her shoulder bag hung against her left hip. She definitely looked like she was ready to party. I could not help but notice she attracted the attention of two men standing outside the hotel as she drove up on her bike. I told her that I thought she looked gorgeous. She seemed pleased. I cannot say exactly where we went that night. I think that Linda and John’s villa was in the area of Dung Dang, somewhere to the North on the outskirts of the city. I think it was beyond the borders of my map. To be honest, I was too distracted by Donna to pay close attention to the route she was taking. She was gorgeous, and I had my arms around her waist. We arrived at the villa before 5:30. I think that the definition of a villa may have evolved over the years. In Vietnam, the well-to-do French Colonialist had lived in villas. Villas were what we would call single-family homes in the United States. By 1967, some of the larger villas, mansions with many bedrooms, were being used to house groups of people, like IBMers, or CIA SOG agents. However, this particular villa was modest and was inhabited solely by Linda and John. The war in Saigon necessitated that the property of a villa be surrounded in the front and on the sides by high walls for security reasons. In this case, the eight-foot high walls were stone. An iron gate, manned by a private security guard, provided access from the front. We rode the bike through the opened gateway, into the yard, and parked in a small area to the left of the gate set aside

for that purpose. The house was two stories with what appeared to be stucco or concrete block walls. The roof was relatively flat and appeared to be tiled. The house was about forty to fifty feet across in the front with a heavy wooden door in the center. To the right and to the left of the door were two vertically long windows with wooden shutters. The second story sported three of these windows, one above the front door and another on either side. Above the second story windows, were three small louvered windows that were probably used for ventilation. The sides of the house went back away from the street and were about eighty to ninety feet long. A stone patio ran the entire length of the right side of the house and was accessible from the front and from the rear. Except for the small motor bike parking area, gardens surrounded the entire property. I could see a conveniently placed bench in the garden area to our right, and I assumed there might have been more that I could not see. As we entered the front door, we found ourselves in a small vestibule. Linda was there to greet us. “Hello Donna…and you must be Peter. Donna has said good things about you. John and I are glad you could come.” Linda was older than Donna and me, probably in her mid-thirties. She was about 5 foot six and a little on the heavy side. She was not unattractive but I would say she was matronly. “Donna has been here a few times but let me show you around.” Just then, John appeared from the room to the left of the entrance, his office. Donna introduced us. John was about five feet eleven, an athletic build and quite handsome. He looked familiar to me, but I could not where I may have seen him. I did not say anything. “Peter it is a pleasure to meet you. Why don’t you let Linda show you the house and Donna and I can talk about you. I’m just kidding.” “Okay, see you guys later,” I responded and left with Linda. We walked down a main hall in the center of the house to a stairway on the left. “Peter let me show you the upstairs first.” At the top of the stairs, we came to an open area with a ceiling fan high above us. Then, turning to our left we walked down a main hallway in the center. There were two bedrooms on the right and a full bath on the left. At the end of the hallway was the master bedroom. It extended across the width of the house and provided a nice view of the gardens and trees beyond. Linda was quite pleased with her accommodations, and was more than eager to describe everything in detail. It was here in the master bedroom that we struck up quite a conversation.

“Linda, I hope you do not mind my asking how long you and John have been married.” “About ten years, but this is the first time we have had a house to live in together. We rent the house from the State Department and we have been here for about a year. As you can probably tell, I really like the house.” “Donna says she reports to you at USAID.” “Yes, but her department has a lot of autonomy. Donna works well independently and I don’t have to give her very much direction.” Linda continued, “I understand you have been working at MACV. May I ask, what do you do there?” “I am a computer systems analyst. Actually I have pretty much completed my assignment and expect to be returning to the States next week.” “How long have you and Donna known each other?” “About five weeks, why?” “Are you two getting involved with each other?” “We are just friends, but why would that concern you?” “Well, please excuse me but I will get right to the point. Although I am Donna’s boss at USAID, we have known each other for about a year and we have become friends. I look out for my friends, and I am concerned. Donna is bright and outgoing. She is also very attractive and when it comes to men, she has had some bad experiences. I do not want to see her taken advantage of, and I do not want her to be heartbroken when you leave next week. I know how men can behave when they are away from their wives for too long. Please do not be that way with Donna.” “Linda, I assure you that I would never hurt her or take advantage of her. I make no secret of the fact that I am married, and I want to be true to my wife. I hope you don’t mind my asking, but are you and John having some marital issues?” “Why would you think that?”

“Well, based on your assessment as to how men behave, and also the fact that there is only one pillow on the bed. I’m sorry; it is none of my business.” “Donna said you were very perceptive and also very outspoken. You are right. John travels a lot and he flirts, and sometimes more. I even suspected he and Donna were involved at one point before I got to know her. He and Donna see each other often. John says it is work related, and he is not allowed to talk much about what he does. The thing is that once a man cheats on his wife, the wife will sense it whether he tells her or not and then there can be trust issues. “Well, Donna and I are just friends.” “I hope you are right, but Donna often confides in me, and I think that she may have stronger feelings for you than she has let on.” I looked directly at Linda. “I see. I understand now where you are coming from.” Then after a pause, I added, “I think it best if we keep this conversation to ourselves.” “I agree,” was her response. Linda may have revealed to me that John was Donna’s CIA boss. I ed my first day in Saigon at the US Embassy. Donna had excused herself, stating that she needed to meet with her boss. I had looked down the hall and noticed that a man greeted her and escorted her into a nearby office. I am quite sure that the man was John. Linda and I walked back down stairs and to the left, down the main hallway and through the kitchen at the back left end of the house. Two Vietnamese young women were in the kitchen preparing food. We said hello, and proceeded out a back door from the kitchen and into the gardens. “Peter I wanted to show you my gardens before it gets dark. I am quite proud of my mandevilla and hibiscus. They are not native to the area but they seem to do just fine. I also have chrysanthemums (hoa cuc) and jasmine that are often found in this area.” “Your flowers are quite beautiful, and the garden is very nicely arranged. What are those purple flowers over there?” “Those are bougainvillea. They bloom most of the year. They were native to South America, but the French introduced them here. Then over here, I have

orchids. I want to show Donna my orchid plants. I think she might like one as a birthday present.” “Linda, I very much enjoy the beauty of a garden, and I can tell that you are quite proud of yours. The flowers all have sexy names when you pronounced them, but I have to be honest with you, I can’t seem to their names.” “Donna says you are a genius and can everything.” “I think Donna has given me too much credit,” I said as I chuckled. “Perhaps that goes to my earlier point?” “Perhaps,” I chuckled again. We ed through the gardens in the back of the house to the patio on the right side. The patio was being set up for a buffet meal. We reentered the house via one of the two sets of French doors that connected the patio to the long living and dining room that extended along the entire length of the right side of the house. “Peter, I call this the ‘long room.’ The dining area is toward the back of the house and at this end is the living area. John has a component stereo system set up at this end and he has removed the large scatter rug that is usually here. We thought that later on after we eat we could play some popular tunes and dance. I see you are noticing the ceiling fans. The ceilings in this house are about ten feet high and ceiling fans are in almost every room.” The long room was no exception; it had two. As we ed back into the main hallway, we encountered John and Donna coming out of his office. “Oh so there you guys are. That was a long tour. They have some house here don’t they?” Donna asked of me. “Yes they certainly do. The gardens are quite beautiful. Linda, thank you for the tour. You and John have a very nice place.” Then Linda asked Donna to come out to the garden with her before it got too dark. She had a birthday present for her. “John, maybe you and Peter can talk.” “So, this is your office,” I said. “I see you keep it locked. You must have some

rather secret information in there. You and Donna spent a long time in there. If one did not know the true nature of your relationship with Donna, I would think they might be very suspicious that something inappropriate was going on between you. I’m just kidding.” He did not seem amused. “Peter, I assure you it was not. Sometimes you just have to trust someone. The trick is to know when you can and when you cannot. Let’s go outside and talk.” He led me through the living area, telling me about his component stereo system and record collection on the way out to the patio. We stopped off at the portable bar set up on the patio area, and manned by a Vietnamese servant. John ordered a scotch and I ordered a glass of white wine. With drinks in hand, we then proceeded to a secluded place in the garden area where we could talk privately. “Peter, before we talk you need to understand that this conversation must remain secret and none of it can be repeated. I mean that literally. It can be a matter of life and death. You understand?” “Yes I do” “Has Donna told you who I am?” Donna really hadn’t told me, but I lied. “She said you were her boss, and you wanted to meet me. I know that Donna works undercover for the CIA so I assume that means you are CIA. Why did you want to talk with me?” “Well, I am her project manager, her boss if you will. I wanted to start by thanking you for successfully completing your assignment, and helping Donna with hers. I also want to give you some insight into what is going on, and I want to talk to you about some concerns I have.” “Okay,” I replied. I still did not understand, but I was curious enough to hear what he had to say. “I was US ARMY Special Forces, Green Berets for several years. After that, I worked for the CIA’s Special Operations Group. Now I am in the Foreign Service and employed by the US Embassy. However, the CIA does not technically employ me; I just work with them. The CIA has a rather complicated organizational structure. Have you heard of a ‘matrix management’ structure?

Well the CIA is more like a matrix management structure in multiple dimensions. You have the manager that holds your personnel card, you have the manager of the operation that you are part of, but then you have people who are undercover, and others that are not. You also have non-employees that are called ‘assets’. I am an undercover manager of a project or operation that Donna is part of. You are an asset. I had to approve of your assignment here, as did the Saigon station chief who is not undercover. As an employee of the CIA, she reports up to someone in Langley via the Station Chief here in Saigon.” He had just answered another one of my questions. He and the station chief were not the same person. He continued, “Donna reports to me with respect to the project. You probably realize that you are only a small part of what she does for me, and Donna is only a small part of my project. However, the job necessitates that Donna and I meet and talk frequently.” Before he could continue, I interjected. “John, I understand, and I find this interesting, but why are you telling me all this?” “Well…I am concerned about your relationship with Donna. I feel the need to give you some advice that will be beneficial to you as well as to Donna. Your situation with Donna is something I can identify with from my own firsthand experience.” “What situation are we talking about?” John ignored my question and kept talking. “When Donna first came here, Linda was suspicious. She thought I could be having an affair with her. Of course, Linda has always known that I was involved in intelligence work, but I had to take her into my confidence and trust her more than normal in order to convince her that nothing inappropriate was happening with Donna. Since then, the two of them have become friends. Linda truly cares about Donna’s welfare. She has expressed concern that maybe you and Donna were becoming too involved with each other. She does not want her friend to be hurt. I think she may have expressed this to you when you took that tour of the house.” I began to realize that this talk was going to be more like a lecture. Although I was not in the military, I knew that when a Colonel lectures a Lieutenant, the Lieutenant would be advised to listen and not talk back until asked to do so. I

struggled to keep my silence as John continued. “Linda may have also told you that she and I are on the outs right now. I love Linda but I tend to indulge in meaningless sexual encounters with young women when I‘m away from her. I think it may be my macho background or the way I am wired. I don’t know. There is no emotional involvement with my encounters, just sex. I do not think you are like me in that regard, but that was Linda’s fear. Now that she has met you, she may think otherwise about you.” Hearing this made me wonder if this conversation wasn’t also for John’s benefit. After all, who else did he have to confide in about such matters? John continued. “Like Linda, I am also concerned about Donna, but my reasons differ from hers. I generally take the position that the people I manage have a right to make their own personal decisions. I do not like to get involved. However, as a manager, I want the people that report to me to perform well. If they are upset, or heartbroken, they may not.” Having had some management training in business school, I thought I understood where he was coming from. “Peter, in order for me to do the job I had with Special Forces and Special Ops, I had to learn something called ‘emotional intelligence.’ To perform well I needed to be able to recognize my emotions and those of others, and then I needed to be able to manage them in a constructive manner. That means you do not suppress or deny your emotions; it means you deal with them. Over the years as a Green Beret and as a manager within the SOG, I saw many terrible things that made me very emotional. What I learned was that you could not just suppress those feelings and emotions. People that denied their emotions became automatons, cyborgs; they became dead inside. People that felt their emotions but did not know how to handle them often became depressed, committed acts of violence, or made poor decisions that got them killed or got others killed. A CIA agent’s ability or inability to handle emotions intelligently can be the difference between life and death. Donna is still learning. Donna’s ability in the area of ‘emotional intelligence’ has not yet been fully tested, and yours is a total unknown to me. That concerns me.” I wasn’t sure if I should respond to that. I felt as if I knew how to handle my emotions. He was the one with the marital problems, not me. I decided to play it safe and keep my mouth shut, as John continued with his lecture. “You are newly married. I have been married for ten years. I have learned a few

things that could be useful to you. For one thing, I know that if you were to sleep with Donna, it will affect your marriage. Do not think it won’t. That is true regardless of whether you have feelings for Donna or not. Your wife will know something happened and she will lose trust in you. Do not think you can hide it from her. You would be better off just telling her everything upfront. You say that you and Donna are just friends. However, according to what I have heard from Donna and from Linda, Donna has a crush on you. Donna is not dressed the way she is tonight for my benefit. Sometimes the emotions we feel are based on assumptions we have made rather than objectivity. For example, men and women might think they are in love when it is only the hormones talking. Even if your intentions are good, the two of you could end up hurting yourselves as well as my mission. You need to be careful.” The bottom line was DO NOT SLEEP WITH DONNA. I think most guys would consider his lecture to be bullshit and psychobabble, but his advice made sense to me. Objectively, I had no argument. On the other hand, I never liked being told what to do. That was especially when it came to managing what I thought should be my personal choices. Being told what to do often made me want to do just the opposite. Until this evening, I had no intention of sleeping with Donna, and I had no idea she had any desire to sleep with me. He was right. I needed to be careful. All I could do was nod that I heard him. “Here is another little tidbit of advice for you, Peter. Don’t burn you bridges. It is possible that you will see Donna again after you leave here next week. I am only thirty-eight and I often run into people that I thought I would never see again. In your case, maybe you get a job offer from the CIA, or maybe you move to Virginia and run into Donna in the grocery store. Maybe we will be so impressed with your work that we will invite you back for another project. You never know.” I was thinking that I might not mind burning this bridge, but again I remained silent. “Anyway, you have been very patient putting up with my lecture. Anything you want to say?” Finally, I was given an invitation to speak.

“John, I thank you for the talk. Your advice about emotional intelligence is well taken. I will it. Deciding the best way to handle emotions is not always easy. I do my best, but I realize that I am still learning. I also hope that Donna lives up to your expectations. She really has become a friend, and I want her to succeed… and just one more thing.” “What?” “Something I have learned is that woman may say they never want to see you again and at the same time love you. They are simply putting the ball back into your court. I think you should tell Linda how you really feel about her.” “That is probably good advice,” he said as he stood up and glanced over to the patio. “Well I see that food is being put out on the patio and I imagine that Donna may want to introduce you to her colleagues. So let us head back.” When we got back to the food buffet on the patio, the food was not quite ready. Several couples were gathered on the patio talking with drinks in hand. I ed Donna who was talking with two of her colleagues. “Peter I would like you to meet Thuy. Thuy works for me at USAID, and this is Thuy’s friend Allan.” “Pleased to meet you both. Allan, do you work in USAID also?” I asked. “Yes but in another department. What do you do Peter?” “I am a contractor here on a temporary assignment with MACV SOG, over on Pasteur.” After I said this, there was dead silence until Donna interjected. “Peter is a computer system analyst. He is not here to kill anyone.” We all laughed. Donna continued to introduce me to the other eight people who were her colleagues and guests as we waited for the remainder of the food to be laid out. The buffet was excellent. Donna suggested that I focus on the Vietnamese food rather than the American food that I could get back in the States. A good suggestion I thought. I tried to sample everything but was careful not to take too much in total. Wow what a spread. I had a small cup of Pho, and followed that with Cha Gio

made with pork, crabmeat, egg and onions, all very tightly wrapped and deepfried in rice paper. A special fish sauce was provided for dipping. I finished my selection with ginger chicken, rice and stir-fried vegetables. Donna and I sat down at a table for four with Sally and Bruce. Donna introduced Sally as someone who worked for her at USAID. Sally introduced us to her friend Bruce. Bruce was more than six feet tall, and had to be well over two hundred pounds. Bruce was an airman first class. He had on his summer Khaki uniform with short sleeves. His biceps bulged at the hem of his sleeves. He was drinking beer and already had had more than one. I could not help but wonder how the two of them hooked up, so I asked. “Bruce, I am curious as to how you two met.” “Well I load and unload cargo out at Tan Son Nhut. Sally came out there looking for a missing shipment and I helped her to find it. She was grateful and asked me to come party with her, so I said yes. Kind of hard to turn down an offer like that isn’t it?” I realized that I did not bring a drink with me back to the table, and I thought a white wine would complement my meal, so I asked if I could get any one a drink. Sally declined, and Bruce already had a beer in front of him. Donna said she would like a white wine, so I excused myself and headed for the portable bar. After several minutes, I came back to the table with two glasses of sauvignon blanc. As I sat down, Bruce was engaging Donna in conversation, some of it rather suggestive I thought. Meanwhile Sally was left out, so I began talking with her. Sally was pleasant. She was not particularly attractive physically, but she had a nice smile and a sweet personality. After supper, Linda called everyone into the dining area of the long room. In the middle of the dining room table was a large layer cake about fourteen inches in diameter; it was white cake with chocolate icing. Centered on top of the cake was a medium size white candle and the numeral “25” in white icing. We all sang happy birthday to Donna. After which Donna cut the cake and she and Linda served. Donna brought me my slice and as she handed it to me, I thanked her and told her happy birthday. Linda and her girlfriends all saw fit to hug her. Then, to my surprise, Bruce still sporting a beer in one hand, came over and said “Babe, where I come from birthday girls get a big hug.” Then with beer in hand, he gave Donna a bear hug that could have squeezed the life out of her.

Sally quickly spoke up onishing him. “Bruce, please be careful; don’t hurt her.” After some more conversation, mingling and cake eating, John began playing dance music. The wood floor of the living room area of the long room became the dance floor. John’s 400-watt amplifier and giant speakers filled the room with quality sound. He had 45 and 33 RPM records that he was playing on two different changers, so he could quickly switch between them allowing for almost continuous play. The dancing started out with lively music popular at the time, music that lent itself to non- dancing like Cubby Checker’s “Lets Twist Again Like we Did Last Summer”, and like James Brown’s “Papas Got a Brand New Bag”. Then there was more Rock and Roll style dancing, such as ‘Devil with the Blue Dress On’. In the beginning, everyone was changing dance partners. I danced with Donna but also with the other women. As the evening wore on, the music slowed down with popular hits like “The Sound of Silence,” “You don’t Have to Say You Love me,” “Cherish,” “You Lost That Lovin Feelin,” and others. I was dancing with Linda when the first slow piece, ‘In the Still of the Night’, started playing. I looked for Donna but she was already dancing with Bruce, and Linda wanted to dance with me again. However, I could not keep my eyes off Donna as I realized that Bruce was making unwanted advances, even attempting to grope. Donna seemed to be handling it, but I did not like to see it. I also noticed his guest, Sally, was watching. She did not look too happy either. I revealed my observations to Linda. “Linda I do not like what I am seeing. I think we should do something.” “Peter, please do not lose your cool.” “Not to worry; I have a plan. Please come with me.” “What are you going to do?” “Please trust me,” I responded. Then I took Linda by the arm and we walked over to where Bruce and Donna were dancing. “Excuse me Bruce. May I cut in?” He seemed to ignore me and kept dancing, so

I spoke louder, “Bruce, may I please cut in? I would like to dance with Donna.” “Donna and me need to finish this number.” He slurred his words as he spoke. Then Donna piped in, “Bruce, it is okay, we can dance later. You should go ask Sally to dance.” “She won’t dance with me,” he said as he continued to hold onto Donna. Then seeing our stalemate predicament, Linda said, “Hey Bruce, I want to dance with you; how about it?” Meanwhile I am thinking how dumb it was of me to have a plan without a “plan B,” but fortunately, Bruce accepted Linda’s offer. As Bruce and Linda stepped aside and began to dance, I overheard Linda tell Bruce that if he got fresh with her, he should that her husband was a Green Beret. I turned to Donna. “Donna, I would very much like to slow dance with you.” There was no response so I took her by the hand and asked, “Are you all right?” “Yes, just a little embarrassed. I could have handled it you know.” “I know, but I did not enjoy seeing it, and Sally was not happy either. My instinct said I needed to do something. I hope you do not mind my concern.” “Perhaps we should talk to Sally.” I glanced over to where Sally was and saw that Thuy and Allan were consoling her. “Sally is okay. She is talking with Thuy and Allan. It’s all okay now. You can relax.” I took Donna’s right hand in my left hand, and put my right arm around her back. I looked into her eyes, and gave her a smile. She smiled back and we began to dance. “Peter, you’re really a nice guy.” The lights were dimming and people were beginning to gravitate to the person that they came with. Donna and I both had had a few drinks through the course of the evening. We were sober, but relaxed. I told her how much I was enjoying the evening and she told me that she enjoyed dancing with me. Each time we danced, we positioned ourselves closer to each other. They were playing “When a Man Loves a Woman” when Donna put her head up against my neck and we brought our hands close to our bodies.

She wrapped her left arm around my neck and I held my right arm low on her back. We pulled closer and we could feel the warmth of our bodies as we rubbed up against each other. We did not say much to each other; we just enjoyed the music, and the comfort of each other’s body. As we danced to “The Unchained Melody,” a very dreamy piece popular in 1966, it was clear to both of us that we were becoming sexually aroused. I could see that Donna’s face had become flushed, and she could feel my growing firmness against her hip. She whispered into my neck “Peter, what are we doing? I want you to know that I really like you, but you said you wanted us to just be friends.” She remained up against me as she said this. We were starting to breathe more heavily when I whispered very softly “Donna, let me hold you.” We stopped dancing; we repositioned our arms around each other, and we just stood there in a tight embrace. Then her body trembled followed by an audible gasp of ecstasy and an excited giggle. I could feel her tears on my chin. An onishment from Linda immediately followed. “I hope you two are behaving yourselves,” which elicited a short chortle from me. Until that moment, we had no awareness of anyone else, but apparently, Linda was nearby. Meanwhile, Donna was probably aware that I was unable to prevent my own release. I was glad that the room was dark and that I was wearing black colored pants. It could have been a very embarrassing moment for both of us. Still holding onto each other, I spoke softly and suggested, “Please come with me outside. I think we need some fresh air, and I would like us to find a place where we can talk. Perhaps we can pick up some cold water on the way. We can either drink it or douse ourselves with it as we see fit.” I was trying to be funny, and she forced a laugh. We left the dance floor and headed outside, stopping for water on the way. We walked out to the garden and sat down on the bench, the same one I had been to earlier with John. I turned toward her as I tried to decide what to say. She avoided looking at me, but she spoke first. She must have thought I was angry. “Peter I did not mean for that to happen. I know you just wanted to be friends. Please don’t be angry with me.” “I am not angry with you.” I put my hand on her shoulder and she turned her head quickly toward me as if surprised. She had tears in her eyes. I repeated myself. “Donna, I am not angry with you!”

“After what you saw with Bruce and then what I just did with you, you probably think I am a slut or even worse.” “Donna, stop. I would never think that of you. This was just as much my doing as it was yours. I was hoping you would not be angry with me. I don’t want you to go home and write in your diary that I am a creep that would cheat on his wife and try to take advantage of you.” “I am not angry with you, and I don’t think you are a creep. I think you are wonderful.” As she said this, she took my hand in hers and put her head on my shoulder. “I think you are wonderful too,” I said, as I draped my arm over her shoulders and drew her closer. The night was comfortably warm. The sky was clear and many stars were visible. We sat in silence for a long spell. It seemed that everything had become evident. There was no need to talk. After a while, we agreed it was time to head back home. Donna and I said goodnight to each of her friends, even to Bruce who had sobered up. Linda must have given him a good scolding. He apologized to both of us, and was apparently back in Sally’s good graces as well. Then we looked for John and Linda. We found them dancing together. We thanked them for a wonderful party. Donna and Linda embraced in a farewell hug as I shook John’s hand. “John, I am very glad we met. Once again, thank you for your advice.” “I took your advice as well, he said as he turned his head toward Linda.” I nodded and smiled. I knew exactly what he meant. Then I said good night to Linda. “I very much enjoyed your hospitality. I think Donna is very fortunate to have you as her friend.” We hugged and then she said, “I am glad you could come. I understand why Donna has taken a liking to you. “Oh wait,” she said. “Which one of you is riding on the back of the bike?” “Probably me, why?”

“Then you get to carry Donna’s birthday present. The orchid plant is in a small pot. I wrapped it with Saran wrap and aluminum foil, and set it into this shopping bag with a handle.” We walked over to a nearby table and she handed me the bag. “Can you manage it?” “Yes, I think I can manage,” I said as I took hold of the handle. “However, I think Donna will need to stop at her place before she drops me off.” As I intended, Donna and John had overheard me. Donna looked quickly at me and then back at John as if looking for permission. Then John said, “Sounds like a reasonable plan to me. I will walk you to the door. Donna, don’t forget your shoulder bag in my office.” The ride back was slow. We had been drinking and I was holding onto the potted orchid plant as if it were a baby. We did not want to have an incident. I held onto the plant with my right arm and onto Donna’s waist with my left. Every now and then, her shoulder bag would move away from her body and then swing back against my hand. Her bag was heavy, and I was quite sure why. We arrived at the back door of Donna’s apartment building at around 11:30 PM, well ahead of the midnight curfew. This was the first time I knew where Donna lived. Her apartment was near the Rex and off Nguyen Hue. Nguyen Hue was a main street on the other side of the Eden building running parallel to Tu Do. Donna shut off the engine and we set the orchid plant inside the small lobby of her building. Then we got back onto the bike and traveled the short distance to my hotel where she dropped me off. I think we both knew that a sleepover would be inappropriate and out of the question, and we avoided a tempting goodnight embrace or kiss. However, we did speak briefly before she sped off. “Donna, please know that I really enjoyed the evening and I am glad you invited me.” “I’m glad I was with you Peter. I’ll see you next week.” I stood there for a few moments and watched as Donna turned left onto Tu Do and right onto Le Loi toward her apartment. Her shoulder bag was across her body and snug against her left side. I knew she would be safe.

9 GOING HOME

On Monday, I totally completed everything I planned to do at work. Everything was documented and all the loose ends were tied up. When I got back to the hotel that evening, I found my detailed going home itinerary in my mailbox. I would be leaving Wednesday morning, change planes in Hong Kong, be in Los Angeles (LA) Wednesday afternoon, sleep over in LA, and be home Thursday night. I was amused to see that I would leave Hong Kong, be in the air for fourteen hours, and get to LAX before I left Hong Kong. Of course that all has to do with the magic of the international date line which reverses everything by twenty-four hours when you cross it in the Pacific heading East. I had specifically requested the overnight in LA. Two weeks ago, I had written a letter to my friend George that I was in Saigon, and would like to see him on my way home. I knew that I would arrive in LA in the afternoon, allowing us to have a dinner together, which I had offered to buy. He had accepted my offer in concept. The problem was that I did not know what day I would be coming home, and George did not know how to arrange his schedule. I had the same issue with my wife, Penelope. What I needed to do was figure a way to let them know on rather short notice what days and exact times I would be there. It was now about 6:00 PM. At this time of year, LA would be fifteen hours earlier than Saigon. It would be 3:00 AM in LA. In New York, it would be 6:00 AM. I decided to get myself over to the USO and use the phone. Penelope would be getting up and I might reach her before she left for work. I would have to wait three hours to call George. This is what I did, and I was fortunate that the calls went through, and that they were both home when I called. There were no answering machines in 1967. AT&T still had its monopoly and nothing could be connected to their network. If no one had answered the phone, my backup plan would have been a Western Union Telegram. By Tuesday March 21, everyone had agreed that the job was complete and I could go home. The Captain, Danny, Jeff, and even Jim came to my send-off in the conference room. They presented me with a card and an expensive pen

engraved with my initials PST. The message in the card said “Hope your PEN fulfils a need and is very useful.” It did not escape me that the official name of the project had become the PEN Project. I thanked them all, but I especially thanked Jeff for his ability to complete quality coding in such short order. The next morning Donna picked me up in the Jeep and drove me to the embassy to exchange my ID for my port, and turn in my MPCs and Dong for dollars. Then we were off to the airport where we said our goodbyes. “I imagine that after all this time you are very happy to be going home to your wife. I will miss you.” I told her “I will miss you too. I am very glad to have known you, and I enjoyed your company. I hope that we can keep in touch. I plan to send something to the Captain at the Rex. Would it be okay if I send something to your mailbox at the Continental Palace – like pictures, or maybe a Christmas card at Christmas?” After a pause, she said, “Yes, I would like that.” Then I asked, “Would it be okay if I give you a hug goodbye?” She smiled and we hugged briefly but tightly. As I began to turn away, I thought I saw some mistiness in her eyes. The trip home was pretty much the same as the trip there, but in reverse, and this time we got to subtract a day as we crossed the Pacific. The fourteen-hour flight from Hong Kong to LA gave me lots of time to think, and reflect on my entire stay. I was happy with the work that Jeff and I had accomplished. I reflected on all the sights I had seen in Saigon. I reflected on the lives of people who worked and lived in Saigon. What would it have been like for me if I was in the military there, or if I was an IBM’er like Bob? Then I started thinking about the life of a CIA agent. That led me to think about Donna and feelings that I never expected. I recalled John’s words about “emotional intelligence.” Somehow, the whole sixweek experience seemed like a distant dream. Was any of it real? It was now ten hours into this flight, 11:00 PM Saigon time. I was very tired and fell asleep. Three and one-half hours later I was awakened by the announcement that we were beginning our descent into LAX. This time, my overnight in Los Angeles was more pleasant and more relaxed than on the trip over. The anxiety of the unknown was not there and I looked forward to having dinner with my friend George. After getting my luggage,

going through customs, and catching the shuttle to my hotel it was about 2:30 PM when I finished checking in at my hotel. George arrived around 5:30 PM. He had taken off early from work, and it took him almost an hour to get there from work. He already had a good place in mind for dinner and that is where we went. We had a drink at the bar and then we were seated at a table. We drank, ate, and talked for four hours. It was a great visit. George and I had known each other since freshman year at Cornell. We had kept in touch. We were roommates freshman year, and later shared a rooming house off campus in our fifth year. He was down to earth, overly modest, and a hard worker. I ired him for that, and we were friends. George now worked for an aerospace company. He was not married yet but would be shortly thereafter. Of course, I told him why I was there in general , but mostly we talked about life and family, and reminisced about college. I asked about his Mom and he asked about Penelope. That reminded me of his friend Ben at Cornell who had introduced me to Penelope. “George, do you Ben? Whatever happened to him?” “Ben never graduated, but dropped out of school in Junior year. I am not sure, but the rumor was he tried to take his own life.” “Wow, I am sorry to hear that. Why?” “Well, I am not sure, but if you he was very bitter about how he had been treated growing up as a Catholic. I think he had a very low self-esteem.” “Now that you mention it, he once told me that he decided to no longer be a Catholic. When I asked him why, he told me that the nuns, the priests, and even his parents made him feel unworthy. Then I him telling me how he thought the church made suicide a serious mortal sin to stop all of the unworthy Catholics from wanting to take their own lives. He was a cynic wasn’t he?” “Didn’t he introduce you to Penelope?” “Yes he did, but after I started dating her I never heard from him again. George, how about you? You meet anyone yet?” “I have, but not sure where it is headed.” “Well I wish you the best with that.”

We talked for much of the evening before he politely excused himself, reminding me that I had an early flight, and that he had to work the next day. I enjoyed our visit, and was pleased to be able to break up the monotony of the long trip home. I fell asleep that night feeling grateful that I had long-term friends like George. I finally arrived in Rochester, late Thursday night, March 23. Penelope was there to greet me. We embraced and got my stuff into the car. She wanted to know everything and although I was dead tired, we talked most of the night. I felt good about the work I had done, but I was very glad to be home and I looked forward to resuming my normal routine.

****

The next week, I was required to meet with Armstrong for what he called a standard debriefing. I summarized the success I had implementing the PEN project, while avoiding details about things I was not sure he needed to hear. The people at TGW were all interested in my trip. I was able to tell them things that I saw in Saigon that were of general interest. I showed them some of the photos I had taken while there, such as the hotel where I stayed, and the traffic jam of motorbikes and taxicabs. I also had a picture of Donna sitting on her motor bike, and I had a picture of me with my briefcase in front of the Continental Palace. Later in April or May, I mailed copies of these last two pictures to Donna in Saigon, c/o room 314 at the Continental Palace. One night Penelope and I went out for a delightful supper at a local restaurant. I trying frog legs for the first time. I thought they tasted like formaldehyde and reminded me of high school biology class. When we got home, we both laughed about that. On another night, Penelope told me she was pregnant; that was unexpected but good news. We both celebrated and called everyone with the good news. The next day we began to look for a larger apartment. We also agreed that she would not tell her employer until she had to do so. Back then, pregnant women were expected to stop working soon after they were pregnant. These were happy and adventuresome times for us as a couple. We were truly in love and looked forward to our newly developing life together.

****

It was in the middle of June when the unthinkable happened. Penelope and I had just celebrated our second wedding anniversary. Saigon was about the furthest thing from my mind when I got a call from Armstrong. I was surprised when Armstrong told me they wanted me to go back to Saigon. “Why,” I asked. “I thought my work in Saigon was done. Did I screw something up?” “I am not sure,” he said. “What they told me is that the probabilities calculated by the program are different than what they calculate by hand. It could be a program error.” This puzzled me because I know that Jeff and I had thoroughly tested the code. “What about Jeff? Shouldn’t he be able to figure out what is wrong?” “Apparently Jeff is no longer there. He got himself reassigned to a ship somewhere in the Pacific. I do not think they even know where he is. They want you. They think that you are the best one for the job.” I was not convinced but I decided not to argue. “How much time before I must leave?” “Two weeks if you can do it.” “I do not know. I may need three. I need to set my wife up in a new apartment and we need to move first. What about the pay?” I was bargaining. “If you can leave within two weeks, we are prepared to pay a bonus of seventyfive hundred dollars. That would be in addition to what we already paid you.” “Have you talked to TGW?” “Yes, they are good with this. There will be an amendment to your prior contract.” I did not tell him that we had already selected a new apartment and were already

packing. Nor did I tell him that if I was responsible for a problem, either in the code or in the logic, I wanted to go anyway. Nor did Mr. Armstrong tell me that my original contract had a clause in it that said they could bring me back at will until the job was completed to their satisfaction. Yet, I could not help but wonder how my employer could be benefiting from my being away from the job so much. Perhaps TGW had a contract with a customer in which the Government had an interest. I could only speculate. “Let me talk to Penelope and get back to you.” “Please call me tomorrow,” he said. I broke the news to Penelope, and we talked about it at length. I explained my need to go back and exonerate myself, and how much additional money we would have. I convinced her that it would only be for a few weeks and I would be back long before the baby was due. I also promised her that we would complete the move to our new two-bedroom apartment before I left. It was enough; she agreed that I should go. As promised, I did not leave her in the lurch. We moved into our new place two days before I left.

10 GOING BACK

After the same grueling trip back by air, I landed at Tan Son Nhut the afternoon of July 9. As I descended the stairs down to the tarmac, I felt like I was suddenly being smothered. The air was heavy; it was hot; and, it was very humid. The sky was overcast, not sunny. I also noticed a foul smell. It was very different from when I had arrived in February. As I walked into the terminal, I had the feeling that the airport was busier than I had seen it before. One reason for that became evident as I went through customs. Apparently, agents were searching the bags of all civilians, except for those that flashed special badges. I assumed those individuals were either state department employees or black ops agents. In any case, it must have been more than thirty minutes after coming off the plane before I walked out of customs with my suitcases, and briefcase in hand. Once again, Donna was there to greet me. I noticed she had let her hair grow a bit; it was just above her shoulders now. “Hello Peter, welcome back. How are you?” “I am doing great Donna. It was a long trip though.” I got my luggage and we were walking toward her parked Jeep as we talked. “We won’t make this a regular commute will we? You must really need me here.” Then she asked, “What did Armstrong tell you about why you were called back?” A curious question I thought. I thought that Donna would know exactly why I was brought back. The implication was that there might be some pretense as to why I was brought back. “Not too much. What can you tell me?” “Peter, I am going to leave it up to Captain Weisman to explain it.” I had hoped for a different angle from her than what Armstrong told me, but did not get it. We loaded my luggage into the jeep and took off. I noticed that the canvas top was up. “Are you expecting rain?”

“This time of year it tends to rain almost every day, and it takes forever to get the top up.” Before we left the area around the airport, Donna drove by the site where the new MACV headquarters compound was under construction. “Peter, I thought you might be interested. People are expected to move into the new headquarters within the next two months. It will have Bachelor barracks for both enlisted and officers. It will have two mess halls, a chapel, tennis courts, a gym, a motor pool, central air conditioning in each building, and modern computer data processing rooms. It will be like a self-contained village.” “Will the PEN project relocate?” “We do not know yet.” As we got onto Cach Mang, the main road into the city, she asked about my home life. “Peter was your wife glad to have you back home?” “Yes, very much so. We had some good times while I was home. We even had a chance to drive to Montreal for a day and see the International Expo.” “How did she feel about you being called back?” “Penelope and I had mixed feelings about it. While at home, I found out that she is pregnant and we got ourselves a larger apartment. However, she is not due until late September so we agreed that it would work out if I were only here for a few weeks.” Then very politely, she says, “Congratulations, I hope it all works out for you.” I began to get cool vibes after that and the conversation for the remainder of the trip into town remained on more of a business-like level. Donna dropped me off at the Continental Palace Hotel and said she would like me to come across the street to the café and meet with her after I checked in. I checked in and a new houseboy named Hung carried my luggage up to my room. This time my room was on the second floor. The room was nicer than the one I had in February. It had a sofa where the armchair had been. In front of the sofa was a small coffee table. The desk and chair were still there. Even more important to me however, was that it was an inside room away from the sounds of the street. It overlooked the rear of the inner courtyard, and it had a balcony. It

was not much of a view, but it was quiet. I wondered if the room would come with a pet gecko this time. Across the street at the Givral Café, I was pleased that Han ed me. We sat down and Donna gave me her introductory briefing. Then she told me, “I will have a colleague of mine pick you up in the morning at eight o’clock sharp to get you ed at the Embassy. He will then take you to work.” “I was hoping you would do that Donna.” “Sorry but I have a meeting I must go to, but unless you have a problem with it I will see you Wednesday at seven PM in your room just like we did before.” “No problem,” I replied, “but as I recall, we used to meet on Thursdays.” “I have meetings with my boss on Thursday evenings,” she said. Then she gave me money. “It will be deducted from your ,” she said. Her next comment seemed out of place. “Peter, I suggest you keep in touch with home; send your wife a letter each week. I think she would appreciate it.”

****

The next morning, a fellow named Don picked me up, and we repeated the process of only a few months prior. We went to the US Embassy. I gave up my port in exchange for an appropriate ID. I looked at my ID. On the line for rank, I was amused that according to my equivalent rank, I had received an imaginary promotion from O1 to O2 - Second Lieutenant to First Lieutenant. I wondered what difference in privilege that could possibly afford me. Don then dropped me off at 137 Pasteur Street. I thanked him and headed for the guard shack. The Sergeant on duty allowed me to after he thoroughly searched my briefcase and made a phone call to Captain Weisman. The Captain met me at the door and escorted me in. That afternoon the Captain took me to an office down the hall from his. He introduced me to Lieutenant Nguyen who had ed the team just after I had left in March. “Peter, I want you to get to know the Lieutenant here. She finished her

officer training and is a lieutenant with the WAFC, the South Vietnamese Woman’s Armed Forces Corps.” The Lieutenant was larger than most of the local women and her eyes were more slanted than most, a Chinese influence, I thought. She appeared to be in her late twenties. She had black hair and was reasonably attractive in my opinion, but seemed to have a hardened look about her as well. “Welcome Mr. Troutman. I look forward to work with you.” Her English was not perfect but not bad either. “I am pleased to meet you as well,” I responded. “Did you replace Jeff?” The Captain interrupted and said, “No Peter, the Lieutenant is the Systems for my project. She handles all input and output to the computer, the access authorizations, and all technical aspects of my job that are not above her security grade. It frees me up to modify the event network each week and provide the appropriate inputs.” “Oh I see.” At this point, the Captain excused himself to let us have time to get to know each other. “Peter, you not wear uniform. Are you military?” “No Lieutenant. I am a civilian contractor.” “I am or too.” “How so? I thought you were military. You wear a uniform.” “Yes, I am WAFC. We not paid by Republic of South Vietnam. WAFC all volunteer. US military pay me as contract.” “Oh, I see, but why did you the WAFC if they don’t pay you?” “I two years ago. My husband he Captain in ARVN. He me. Then he get killed. Now I need money. I no clean villa…no whore. I get education… learn English…learn computers. I go for advanced officer training at Fort

McClelland in Alabama. Now I’m Lieutenant.” “That is quite an accomplishment. How did you like the USA?” “You have expression: Good place to visit but don’t want to live there. I like it here.”

“Peter, you stay at the Continental Palace?” “Yes. It is about a mile from here. With the heat and the rain, I may need to bum rides each morning. How about you? Where do you live? Do you have far to go?” “I live in Cholon. It take twenty minute in morning. A neighbor, he drive me. He manage construction at the new MACV headquarter near airport. It on his way. You see it?” “Yes, it was pointed out to me yesterday on the way from the airport to the hotel. Do you think this computer center will relocate?” “No, I think we stay here.” “What do you think of this PEN project,” I asked her. “Not sure. You create the PEN?” “Yes, I designed it and helped to implement it.” “Why you design it? You not military.” “I designed it for business, but the military said they wanted it. They said it would help to save lives. Do you think that PEN will save lives?” She did not answer at first, and then said, “I do not know what it supposed to do. Whose lives will it save?” I found that to be a curious answer. Then after a pause…“I do not know if it can work,” she said frankly. “It has program bug. Did you come back to find bug?”

“Well I will try to determine what the problem is.” “It must be program bug,” she snapped back. “You see. I will help.”

11 THE INVESTIGATION

[Normally, Carol and I worked a crossword each evening before we shut off the lights, but this week we were talking about the Pen Project. Tonight I was going to tell Carol about the investigation of the computing error. Lieutenant Nguyen had called it a “bug.” By the 1960s, people familiar with computers knew that a “bug” meant an error in the computer program code or the computer program logic. However, not everyone was familiar with the origin of the term, “bug.” As it made for an interesting aside, I asked Carol if she knew the story. She had not, and wanted to hear it. The year was 1945. Computers then were even more primitive than in the 1960s, and consisted of a multitude of vacuum tubes and electromechanical relays. iral Grace Hopper, who at the time was a Navy Lieutenant and a scientist, was working in a computer lab at Harvard University. According to the story, the computer stopped working. iral Hopper and her coworkers investigated the cause and found a moth lodged in one of the relays preventing it from closing. She removed the moth, taped it into her logbook, and pronounced, “We just debugged the computer.” Like most stories, its veracity is questionable, but the terminology has survived to this day. Finding the bug in the PEN program would require an investigation. Like any investigation, the process could be tedious and time consuming. Resolution would require logical and deductive reasoning, but like most investigations, it could also require some out of the box inductive thinking, and maybe even some luck. Carol knew this. Before working for me in my consulting business, she was a forensic ant. She was skilled in doing investigation; she also got off on it. She wanted to know every detail about my investigation. She wanted to know what I discovered, how I discovered it, and what I did about it. I was more than willing to oblige.]

****

My First Week Back

Tuesday July 11 was my first full day of work after being called back. The first thing I did on Tuesday morning was to sit down with Captain Weisman and have him explain the problem that he had discovered. “Captain, what was it that made you think that there was a problem?” “Peter, I manually calculated the probabilities of two events and they differed from the calculated probabilities on the PEN Event Probability Report. At my request, the Captain stepped me through the latest version of the network. “Based on the intelligence that Sam and I were feeding the PEN system, we thought that Event 305 should have a higher probability than the fifteen percent calculated. At the end of May, we had added a new event to the network, Event 295. Event 295 had no precedent events and it fed directly into Event 305. As Event 295 had no precedent events, we had to estimate its probability of occurring. We gave it a low probability of only ten percent that first week because we did not have all of the intelligence yet. However, the next week the intelligence showed that the event was very likely to have already occurred. Therefore, we changed our estimated probability for Event 295 from ten percent to ninety percent. Sam and I thought that the impact upon Event 305 of such a big change would be more significant than what the Event Probability Report was showing. We expected a much higher probability for Event 305, so I manually calculated the probability for Event 305. To do the calculation I used the latest input data, like conditional probabilities, as well as the calculated probabilities for the precedent events. It took a while to do. I manually calculated that the probability of Event 305 in the second week in June should have been thirty-five percent. The PEN program calculated only fifteen percent.” At my request, the Captain took me through the manual calculations he did for Event 305. It appeared to me that he had discovered a problem. “Was the second week in June when you first noticed this problem?” I asked. “Yes, that is when I first noticed it. I then went back in time to see when it started. I found that the problem existed for Event 305 the first week in June, but

the difference was not as significant. I did not find an issue in the last week of May. However, it is possible that events other than Event 305 could be wrong as well.” “You said you manually calculated probabilities for two events. What was the other one?” “I did it for Event 300, one of the other events that fed into Event 305. However, I found no problem. I got the same answer as the computer did.” “Other than adding a new event, did anything else happen in the first week of June or the last week in May?” “Like what?” “Well like a change in the staff, or using a dependency rule for the first time, or maybe a lost badge to the computer room.” “Hmmm,” he responded. “Jeff left us at the end of May.” “Anything else?” “Not that I .” After I left the Captains office, I went back to my cubicle in the basement. As I studied the network, I could see that Event 360 seemed to be a very important and pivotal event. If the network was viewed going from left to right, Event 360 would be very near the right hand side. I was not allowed to know what the event was, but it was easy to discern that if Event 360 were to occur, many of the so-called target events that followed it were also more likely to occur. The latest report, generated the preceding Thursday, a month after the Captain first noticed a problem, showed that the calculated probability of Event 360 occurring was only fifteen percent. If Event 305 was really at thirty-five percent or more, then fifteen percent was likely an understatement of the true probability for Event 360. I spent the remainder of that day and Wednesday re-doing the calculations the Captain had done for Event 305. I got the same results he did. I also did calculations on some of the other events and for some other weeks. All of the calculations were done manually with pencil and paper, and some help from a

slide rule. It was a daunting and time-consuming task. In early 1967, there were no hand held calculators, only desktop calculators. Wang had not yet mass marketed its system. Friden electronic calculators and Marchant mechanical calculators ruled the day. However, none of those were anywhere in the building where I worked. I guess the reasoning was that if we had computers, we would not want calculators. To requisition one would have taken more time than it was worth, so pencil, paper, and slide rule prevailed. The Captain had only looked at two events. After hours of labor, I also found discrepancies with two other events in other weeks. Could we be sure of the week that the problem actually started? I knew I would be reviewing code so on Tuesday afternoon, I went to Lieutenant Nguyen’s office and requested a listing of all of the current code for the PEN project. She said I would have it on Thursday. On Wednesday afternoon, I had an idea. I do not know why I thought of this, but I wondered what change to the input data would result in the calculated probability reported by the computer program. Suppose there was a decimal point error, either in the calculation program or in the report program. In other words, could a probability of forty percent have mistakenly been represented as four percent or even as point four percent? I redid the manual calculations for Event 305 using the altered input, and sure enough, that was exactly the case. One of the input numbers, a conditional probability, was off by a factor of ten. It was very possible that a programming error caused it, and if so, very likely it was in the FORTRAN code that I had written. That Wednesday evening, before I left work, I made my first entries into my daily journal, something I continued to do each evening. Then, each evening, before I left the office, I would lock the journal up in my file cabinet for the night. Oh yes, the Captain had made sure that I had been given a file cabinet with a lock this time. Later on Wednesday evening, I reported to Donna. We met in my room at 7:00 PM as planned. Donna entered the room and commented on how nice the room was before perching herself on the edge of the sofa. I sat across from her on the wooden desk chair. Donna asked if I was settled in, and I told her I was.

Then she asked if I had sent a letter back home yet. I ed that on Sunday she had suggested I do that. I did not understand why she would care, but I answered, “Yes I have. I even got some picture cards yesterday and included one in the envelope.” “I am sure your wife would like to hear from you on a regular basis, especially now that she is expecting.” Then Donna asked, “Have you met the new person on Captain Weisman’s staff, Lieutenant Nguyen?” “Yes, I have,” I acknowledged. “Was there anything about her you needed to know?” “Nothing in particular… just wondering what you may have thought of her.” “Well,” I said, “too early to make any judgements, but she seems friendly enough.” Was Donna’s question more than just idle chitchat? I could not tell. Then I reported that I had verified the problem as the Captain had described it. I told her that my next effort would be to analyze the computer code to see if it had been altered. “Sounds like a plan, let me know when you find something.” “Of course.” “Donna, before you go, I was wondering what you were doing over the weekend. I miss those bike ride tours we used to take.” “The weather is not so good this time of year so not as many opportunities for that.” Then as she arose from her seat on the sofa, she told me gleefully, “I have a date on Saturday.” “That’s great. May I ask where you are going?” “I do not know.” “I hope you have a good time,” I told her.

“Thanks,” she said, as she left.

****

On Thursday, I began to investigate the code. There were two possibilities. The code could be wrong if it was changed after Jeff and I tested it, or the code could be wrong if Jeff and I had overlooked an error. First, I investigated the possibility that Jeff, or someone else, had changed the code after we had tested it. This was relatively easy to do, because Jeff had filed a copy of his code in Mid-March after he said the code was done. I found that printout, and compared it to the printout of the latest code. They were identical! I also compared the math code I had provided to see if it had changed. There was no change! Then I began looking at the FORTRAN code I had written for the module that applied to Event 305. I could find nothing wrong. I looked to see if the code could have incorrectly changed the location of a decimal point. There did not seem to be any way the code could have done that. So now what, I wondered? It was well after dark by the time I left the office Thursday evening. I ed the lectures I had received from Donna about the dangers of walking alone at night. Rather than risk walking, I called for a cab to pick me up and take me back to the hotel.

****

Friday morning I continued proving that none of the computer programs were at fault. Since I may not have been objective about my own code, I even had Jim do me a favor and independently look at the FORTRAN code I had written for

the particular code module that applied to Event 305. I also looked at the calculations for Event 50, which used the same code module as Event 305. If the code was at fault, then both sets of results would have been affected. However, Event 50 was not affected. The code was not the problem! If the computer program was not at fault, there was a good chance that the data used by the computer program to do the calculations had been altered by a human. On Friday afternoon, I had my first status meeting with the Captain. “Peter, tell me what you have found so far.” “Captain, I have not found any issues with the program code. However, I did find out that a specific piece of data input for Event 305 was off by exactly a factor of ten and that ed for the entire discrepancy in the calculated result. I believe that the problem is with the data! The implication is that the data being used by the calculation program is not the same as the data you see on the printouts of the Input Data Files. Selecting the wrong rule from the Rule File is not likely to be the problem either, because that would result in an error and the calculations would not run. Also if the Event File accessed had unapproved events in it, that would show up on the output reports. If we look at your output reports, your calculated probabilities should belong to legitimate events. Can I assume you have already checked that?” “Yes, but I do not mind checking it again just to be sure”, he replied. “I can do that for you Captain. However, I think the most likely issue is that the conditional and apriori probabilities used by the calculation program are different from the correct ones that you see on your input data printouts. That would mean either the program runs against a permanently altered Input Data File, or the file is temporarily altered during the calculation run.” “Peter, how could that happen?” “I do not know yet, but I would like to check the control card listings on the reports you received. That will indicate the file IDs that were accessed. We can compare the file ID on your data file printout to the file ID used in the calculation run.” “Okay let’s do it,” he agreed.

Back in those days, one initiated a computer run by submitting punch cards. The cards on the top of the deck were called control cards. The information they contained included the authorization code of the person initiating the run, the ID of the program being run, the ID of the files being accessed, (unless embedded in the program), and the routing of the printouts. When a report was generated, the first pages of the report would have all of that job control information (JCL information). The actual report would follow. I wanted to see what file ID was accessed by the calculation program, and if it differed from the file ID that had the correct event data. The Captain went to his cabinet, and retrieved a report of a recent data update he made to the Event File, and the report of yesterday’s calculation run. We checked the reports, and sure enough, there was a difference! The Event Data File ID used for the data update report was one digit off from the Event Data File ID used in the calculation run. “Captain if I give you the cards, could you submit a calculation run. It would run against the correct database. Let us use the most recent week. We will compare our result to the report you got yesterday.” “Okay, let’s try it.” I gave the Captain the control cards he needed to generate a calculation report that accessed the correct Event Data File ID. We looked forward to seeing the results on Monday.

****

Second Week Back

On Monday morning, the Captain and I started talking about getting the report that we requested on Friday using my revised control card. We were in the midst of a discussion when Lt. Nguyen came in and handed the Captain a report. “Captain this is the report you requested on Friday.”

As we began perusing the report, we could see that it was showing the same incorrect result that the Captain had on his original Thursday report. I could also see that the pages that would contain the control card and JCL information were missing. “Lieutenant,” I asked. “Where are the control pages?” “Oh,” she said. I did not think you needed, so I remove them and throw away.” I began to realize that this was going to be more difficult than I thought. I tried to be tactful with my next question. “Lieutenant, how does the Captain know what control cards to use when he submits a run?” “Peter, you not understand procedure,” the lieutenant snapped back. The Captain held up his hand and then explained. “Peter, the Lieutenant handles all of my input and output. I fill out key punch forms, and the Lieutenant has them punched. She submits the cards into the reader, and she retrieves the output from my printout box. That afternoon, I talked to the Captain again. “Captain, unless you object, I am going to submit these cards on your behalf. If you allow it, I will use your authorization code, the same data file ID, but this time we can re-calculate the probabilities for that second week in June. That was the week for which we had done the manual calculations.”

****

Tuesday morning I was in the Captain’s office when the Lieutenant delivered his report, before he could get to the box himself. The first page of the report had the message “ACCESS NOT AUTHORIZED” in bold letters. The Lieutenant asked, “What were you trying to do Captain?” “We wanted to make another run using data for a week back in June. What did

we do wrong? Why does it say that I am not authorized? It did not say that the last time?” The Lieutenant looked at the control card and then calmly explained, “No one allowed to run calculation against original data files. When I submit run on Friday, I fix that for you. Every week Chan makes copies of file. Calculations run against copy.” “Why?” We both asked in unison. “It is for security reasons,” she replied. “Not a problem, Captain. I will rerun these against the correct file. Which week was that?” Of course, the run came back the next morning with the same incorrect results we had before. Obviously, determining how the data used in the calculations was altered and covered up was not going to be easy. On Tuesday afternoon, I decided to try something else. Suppose the Captain were to request a calculation run against the copied data file that included temporary data change cards. The data change cards would assure that the data was correct. The Captain agreed and we did this for the first week in June with data change cards for Event 305. The only change needed would be to move decimal point over for one of the input probabilities. I also decided to run the same report using my own authorization code, but I did not tell the Captain.

****

The reports came back Wednesday morning. I asked the Captain what the results were and he told me that once again the report showed the same incorrect results. He showed me the report. I noticed that the JCL indicated that the change program did run before the calculations were done, but the listing of the change cards themselves were missing from the report. There was no way to what changes actually ran. The Captain called in the Lieutenant, and asked for an explanation.

“Captain, data in file not wrong. Data in file same as change card. Change card run and make no change. That prove problem is code error, not data.” We did not want to argue, so we let it go. I left the Captain’s office, went to my own printout box, and retrieved the report that I had submitted on my own. The first page of the report had the message “ACCESS NOT AUTHORIZED” in bold letters. I went to see the Lieutenant. “Lieutenant, why am I not authorized?” “Peter you not authorized to change data.” “Lieutenant, who handles the access authorizations?” “I do,” she said firmly. “Lieutenant, can you give me authorization?” “Maybe. I talk to Captain. We see.” On Wednesday afternoon, I had a task to finish for the Captain. I had promised the captain I would that all of the events on the output files were the same as all the events on the input files. The captain had given me several weeks of reports and on Tuesday and Wednesday, I laboriously made the comparisons. I noticed that there were additional events added since March, and some had probabilities of one hundred percent, indicating that they had already occurred. As I expected, however, everything checked out. The events on the input files were the same events that were on the output reports. No one had altered the events!

****

On Wednesday evening, I met with Donna. “How was your date?” I asked. “It is not your concern,” she said bluntly.

“Donna I didn’t mean to offend you.” I paused and then added, “Donna, I was just asking as a friend you know.” “I know,” she replied. “If you really want to know, my date did not go too well. I guess I am not into the dating thing.” Her tone was disparaging. “I am sorry to hear that, really.” “If you don’t mind, I would like us to focus on business, okay? What can you tell me about the job?” I told her what I could at that point. “I did not find any problems or changes in the computer code. I am convinced that the data reported was different from the data used to do the calculations. The why and how of it remains a mystery.” She did not seem too surprised at that. “I am going to ask the Captain to give me a sandbox or isolated test environment. That will help me determine where all of the differences are and what the true event probabilities are. After that I can work on the why and the how.” “Peter, this is your field of expertise. I am going to rely on you to know what is the right thing to do. Just keep me informed.” Then, before she got up, she looked at me for a long moment and then said, “Peter… could I ask you what you plan to do over the weekend? “I have no plans. I found last weekend rather boring. I am not much of a reader, but I have started reading a novel on the weekends.” “What are you reading?” “The Quiet American…You had told me about it, ? But, you never told me if you had read it.” “I did read it, but I am not sure how I felt about all of the opium, prostitution, and casual sex.” “Well, I do not favor opium and prostitution either, I responded, but so far, I have found it to be interesting. Why were you asking about my weekend?” “Well,” she began, “there is a USO show this Saturday night, and I thought that

perhaps you would be interested.” “You are not asking me on a date are you Donna?” “Peter, in spite of what happened between us back in March, I was hoping we could go as friends. Besides, there will be other people there.” “Okay then, count me in. Details in the mailbox?” “Okay.”

****

On Thursday morning, I went to the Captain. “Captain, to do further testing, I would like a ‘sandbox.’ I want my own test environment. I want to be able to read files, print them, copy files, change them, and have reports delivered to my own printout box.” I reminded him that the original design of this process called for simulation mode, and that was what I needed. “Okay, I will ask the lieutenant to set that up for you. You and the lieutenant should talk more. I think she could be very helpful to you.” At that point, he called her into his office. “Lieutenant, I would like you to work with Peter and give him what he needs to determine the issues with the PEN. “Yes sir. It is program bug isn’t it?” “We do not know yet,” I interjected, “but I would like your help in setting up a simulation mode for me, so that I can work independently of the real operation. Do you have time for us to meet this afternoon, so that I can explain what I am looking for?” “No Peter, sorry, but Friday morning okay?” “Yes that would be fine thank you. See you at nine in the morning?” “Yes, nine hundred hours,” she responded.

****

On Friday morning, I met with Lt. Nguyen. I told her that I wanted my own test environment. I told her I wanted to be able to read files, print them, copy files, change them, and have reports delivered to my own printout box. “Peter I do best I can. What files you need?” I told her I would need the following:

• Copies of the Event Input Data files for every week starting in May; • A copy of every PEN program; • My own authorization code with authority to run any PEN program I want against my files; • Authority to run system file-management programs against my files; • And, I want all output to go directly into my own printout box. “Mr. Peter. That not easy. It take time. Is okay if I only give you some of the weeks now and more later?” “Yes, that would be okay. Can you give me the last week in May, the last week in June, and the second week in July?” “I do my best but do not know how long.” “Your best is all I would expect Lieutenant. Thanks.”

****

On Friday afternoon, I told the Captain I had met with the Lieutenant, but she did not seem to think she could give me everything I was asking for right away, and she did not know when. The Captain explained that the lieutenant had told him she was not sure what she could do, but that he told her it was important, and she said she would try to have something ready for me early next week. Meanwhile, the captain asked if I would like to go to a USO show on Saturday evening. He said he was getting a group together and it should be fun. “Sure, thank you. Who is going?” “Well so far, Danny, Jim, and Dee. Chan said he would come separately and meet us there. I expect he will come with his girlfriend.” “Who is Dee?” “Oh…sorry. Lieutenant Nguyen’s given name is Chi, pronounced ‘Dee.’ In Vietnamese, you would verbally address her as Lieutenant ‘Dee.’ However, the US military requires us to address her using her family name, Nguyen.” This was the first time I had heard the Captain refer to the lieutenant by a first name. “Perhaps you may want to ask Donna?” he suggested. “Actually, she already asked me.” I left a note in Donna’s mailbox that evening. I said that the Captain was getting a group together for the USO show and asked if we could him at his table. I suggested we meet at her place at 7:30 PM. Either I would have a cab pick her up at her place, or we could walk from her place, depending upon the weather. The USO, Donna’s apartment, and my hotel were equidistance from each other and only a short distance from one another. I was hoping we could walk together.

****

Finally Saturday came. Around mid-day, I found a note in my mailbox from Donna saying that she had something to attend to, and she would meet me at the entrance to the USO at 7:45 PM. The weather was nice and I enjoyed walking the four blocks. We arrived at about the same time. Donna was wearing a dark brown skirt and a gold colored blouse. She looked nice, but not seductive. I told her she looked nice and she returned the compliment. We walked in together and found our table. It had been a rough week, and I looked forward to some relaxation. This was not the first time I had been to the USO. They had pocket pool and table tennis. Both games were ones that I enjoyed. I had come to the USO for pick-up games a few times earlier in the year and a couple of times after returning to Saigon. The USO was also a place I sometimes went after dinner before returning to my room at the hotel. Tonight, and any time they had a show, they removed the ping-pong table from the stage and put it away for the evening. Jim and John came together; the Captain and Dee came together; and Chan and Kim came together. Danny never showed up. I later asked the Captain why, but did not get an answer. Jim introduced us to John who worked for Jim and was the computer room attendant at night. John explained that he had the evening off, but would make up for it Saturday morning. The room was set up with round tables intended to seat six, but the eight of us managed to fit ourselves at one table. Donna and I sat between John on her left and Kim on my right. The Captain and Dee sat across from us. We all introduced ourselves by first names. Well except for the Captain. He said, “Just call me Captain.” I was meeting John for the first time. He was Jim’s roommate at the Brinks BOQ. Jim had said that John was the computer operator during off shift, so during the intermission I could not help but ask, “John, it is a pleasure to finally meet you, but who is minding the computer room?” Jim interjected, “Peter I have another employee now. His name is Jerry. Usage of the computers grew rapidly after you left in March, so I added more help. Jerry ed us in May.” There was plenty of time for conversation before the show started and again at

intermission. As she was sitting to my right, I struck up a conversation with Kim, Chan’s girlfriend. “Peter, do you work where Chan works?” Her English was excellent. “Yes but I am only there short term.” “How do you know Donna?” I told her “Donna works for USAID and her job is to help transients like me to get settled and find their way around the city. We were staying at the same hotel and kept running into each other so we began talking and became friends.” Donna was listening in and seemed to approve of my answer. Donna ed in, adding that she had given me a tour of Cholon and introduced me to pho, after which the two of them started talking about recipes for pho. The show started with a comedian and then a musical revue. It was not bad, and it served its purpose. Besides, it was a chance to maintain a good rapport with everyone, and although it was not a date, I did enjoy Donna’s company. Later during intermission, Donna excused herself and went to the lady’s room, and Chan excused himself and went to the bar to get a ginger ale for Kim. I began talking with Kim again. “Kim, how did you and Chan meet?” “I met Chan in Cholon about a year ago when he came into the store where my mother works. I work there as well. Chan was trying to find a woodcarving of an elephant. They bring good luck you know. He spoke to me in Vietnamese and that impressed me. I asked how he learned Vietnamese and he told me that his father grew up in Vietnam.” “What does your father do?” “He works for the government in land management. We are fortunate. We are well off financially. My father says the government appreciates what he does.” Then I asked Kim if her parents approved of her dating an American soldier. “My father did not approve at first, but two months ago he and Chan came to some type of agreement and now it is okay. We even have a secret place we can go when we need to be alone together.” She seemed sweet and innocent. Her openness reinforced that.

Donna had not returned yet when I noticed she was over near the bar talking with Chan. It seemed to be more than a ing conversation. When she eventually came back, she had two drinks with her. I had not requested it, but she handed me a brandy, and apparently had a ginger ale for herself. “Thank you,” was about all I had a chance to say before the show started up again. We all had a few drinks. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Dee and the Captain seemed to be comfortable with each other, perhaps too much so. She seemed to be fawning over him. She had her arm on his shoulder a lot. Donna also noticed. I sensed that Donna had some prior knowledge of Nguyen, the way she looked at her. After the show, I heard “Dee” invite the Captain over to her place. I assume he took her up on that. Then Jim asked if I wanted to them for drinks back at the Brinks. I looked at Donna. She shook her head. I walked over to Jim. “No thanks,” I said softly. “I want to see that Donna gets back and then I am just going to turn in. But Jim, could I hitch a ride to work with you on Monday morning?” I did not think it would be an imposition because the Brinks BOQ was only a hundred yards or so away from the Continental, and he had to go right by my door anyway. Jim had given me rides before. “Sure, would seven thirty hours be okay?” “That’s fine. See you out front. Thanks.” Meanwhile, as Donna and I approached the exit, we noticed that it was starting to rain. “Peter, if you want to them it is alright.” “Actually, I feel like I should have spent more time with you tonight. I got involved talking with Kim.” “That’s alright, I enjoyed the evening, and I got a chance to talk with the people in your group.” “It is not a problem Donna. I am more than pleased to escort you home.” It was raining rather hard now, so I suggested we take a cab. Several were lined up out front. She agreed. When we got into the cab, I was about to direct the

driver to Donna’s apartment. I figured we would drop her off and then the driver would take me the rest of the way to the Continental Palace. However, before I could say anything, Donna told the driver to take us to the Continental Palace. When we arrived, I said, “I’m glad you enjoyed the evening. Would you like to come up?” She put her hand on my shoulder, “It’s okay Peter, I really did enjoy the evening, and I am glad we went together, but I am a bit tired. Besides, this was not a date, ? I’ll just have the cab take me to my place. I’ll see you next week.” “Okay, here. Please take this…. cab fare…the least I can do,” I said, as I inserted the appropriate wad of bills into her hand. After I got out, I watched the cab drive across Tu Do and turn right onto Le Loi before I lost sight of it. I went up to my room, and had no trouble falling asleep.

****

Third Week Back

That Monday morning, I got a ride to work with Jim. Jim and John not only shared a room, but they also shared a jeep. Since they worked on different shifts, sharing the jeep worked out for them. I had intended to talk to Jim about the security of the computer room, but decided to take a different tact. “Jim, have you heard from Bob Nunn lately? He took me out on the town before I left in March, and I wanted to connect with him again.” “Actually he is due to pay us a visit soon. I was waiting to hear from him.” “Sounds like you have not had any issues requiring his presence. Does he have a regular schedule?”

“I only call him to come if we a have an issue that is critical. Otherwise, I just keep a list of things I want him to check out when he does come. As far as a regular schedule, that is not Bob. Unless we have a critical issue, he pretty much comes when he pleases.” “Yes,” I chuckled, “that sounds like Bob.” “I will get his phone number for you when we get to the office.” “Thanks Jim, I would appreciate that.” “Peter, other than going out on the town with Bob, what do you do with your free time?” “Well, there has been eating, drinking, touring, bowling, ping pong, pool, shows, reading, and shopping. I get restless if I don’t do something.” “Did you say you play pool?” “Yes, in college the fraternity had a table. However, the USO is the only place I know that has tables here. They are quite busy so I have only played a few times here in Saigon.” “Well, I can reserve a table at the USO. I have been thinking of getting John and Chan together to play, but we could use a fourth. Would you be interested?” “Yes I would. Thanks for the invite. When were you thinking of doing this?” “Haven’t decided yet. I’ll let you know.” After we entered the office, we exchanged pleasantries with Danny who was already at his station. After a few moments, Jim excused himself. “I will leave the phone number on your desk,” he said as he left and walked toward the stairs leading to the basement. After Jim left, I continued talking with Danny. I couldn’t help but ask him,, “Why didn’t you us at the show Saturday night? You missed a really good show.” “Well, you are not in the military so you may not understand this, but generally it

is not acceptable for low level NCOs like me to associate socially with officers like the Lieutenant or the Captain. My friends would ostracize me if they knew. You are okay because you are a civilian, and everything at work is okay, but socially that is something else.” “Gosh Danny I had no idea. I guess I just do not think that way. For what it is worth, I don’t think the Captain does either. I think he respects you and tries to be include you.” “He does, and I have a great deal of iration for the Captain. It is not him, but I live in an NCO quarters, and we hang with our own. Most Lieutenants and Captains treat us like servants. My best friend Bruce feels the same way about it, and he talked me out of going.” I was about to head downstairs myself, when I noticed that the Captain’s door was open and he was reading the Monday newspaper. “Danny, would you please excuse me? I would like to say hello to the Captain before I head downstairs.” The Captain had what Bob Nunn said IBM called an “open door policy.” If his office door was open, you were free to poke your head in and speak. The Captain welcomed it as a way to stay in touch with “the troops” and maintain morale. We had both arrived early to work. I had no hesitation about striking up a conversation, so I entered his office. “Hey Captain. How are you this morning?” “Great, did you enjoy the show Saturday evening?” he asked as he motioned for me to come in and have a seat. “I did, and I appreciated your inviting me and Donna to the group. You and Dee seemed to be hitting it off pretty well.” “Yes, she can be friendly,” he replied. “From what I overheard her say, I assume you went home with her,” I ventured, in what I thought was a non-judgmental way. He smiled. “You know, when you have been here in a war zone for an extended period of time, with very few women, it can be hard to resist. Just between you and me, I knew Dee before she ed the project. Many of the officers I know

have Vietnamese women on the side. Technically, it is against the rules, and an officer can be charged with ‘behavior unbecoming of an officer,’ but it is common practice nonetheless. I have always ired Dee. I hope I can trust you to keep my secret.” “Of course Captain. However, my guess is that the people on your team may already suspect what is going on. Maybe you need to be more discreet.” “Well I guess I am not real good at discretion,” he said emphatically, but then he turned the tables. “I thought maybe you and Donna had something going.” “Why would you think that?” “Before you came back to Saigon, Donna and I had coffee. We talked about you. She seemed very fond of you. She showed me a picture of the two of you with her bike. And then you said that she had asked you to Saturday’s show.” “Well, I think we are friends. We are not sleeping together if that is what you are implying. I am married and she is Catholic. Actually, I thought you and she could be interested in each other.” “You know…I actually thought about inviting her over to the pool at the Rex, but I think she would have declined.” “Perhaps she would have been embarrassed again,” I ventured, ing the prior experience he had told me about. “You told me that women rarely go over to that pool.” “Perhaps you are right, but to be honest, I am a little bit afraid of her, being CIA and all, and besides, as you pointed out, she is Catholic, and I am Jewish.” This was the first time I was aware that the Captain knew Donna’s real job. “Captain, why do you think she is CIA?” “When I discovered the inconsistencies in the PEN calculations, I went to see Colonel Abernathy. He had Donna and Donna’s boss us in a follow on meeting. That was when I learned of her real job. Abernathy and Donna’s boss asked me to work with Donna. They told me that the CIA initiated the PEN Project and had a vested interest in its success.” As he said this, I am thinking that I had initiated the PEN project, but I wanted him to finish what he was

saying, so I let it and did not quibble. “When Donna and I had coffee, she wanted to know how we could determine the cause of the problem. I was bumping my head up against the proverbial wall, and Jeff had already gone. Donna wanted to know more about the people on the project, including Jeff, and especially about Dee. I suggested we bring you back. Donna was unsure. I got the impression that something had happened between you two. However, we both agreed that you were the best person for the job, so Donna agreed to talk to her boss about bringing you back.” “Captain, I appreciate you telling me this, but I need you to also be discreet about Donna’s true role, and about my CIA connection to her. Can I count on you for that?” “Peter, Donna does not know about my relationship with Dee. I will keep your secret if you will keep mine.” I did not say anything, but I thought that based solely on his behavior Saturday night, his relationship with Dee would have been quite clear to her. “Captain, I had best get downstairs to my cubicle. I will talk with you later.” “Okay, Peter.” Late Monday afternoon, the Lieutenant poked her head into my cubicle and told me that my test environment was all set up, and she hoped it was enough to get me started. “Peter, Captain say this important. I work all weekend…Hope this what you need. Here is list of all your file IDs. I also do control cards so you get reports.” “Lieutenant, thank you. I appreciate the effort you put into it” I was eager to get started so before I left that night, after ing that the control cards she gave me made sense, I submitted cards to print several reports, including Event Input Data Reports for the three weeks of data using the files that Nguyen provided. These reports were delivered to my printout box on Tuesday morning.

****

On Tuesday, I compared the results to comparable reports that the Captain had. The last week of May was the same, and as expected, the other two weeks were different. It took time to find these differences. To do so I had to compare all of the input data for each event, but I was eventually able to determine where the differences were. Three of the 75 events were different, and the differences involved shifts in the decimal point of an input conditional probability. I knew I had the same bad Event Data Input files the Captain had. I now had proof that it was the data and not the program that was in error. I also knew that the problem clearly started in the first week of June. That afternoon, after finishing my analysis of the Event Input Data Files, I submitted cards to run the calculation program against my input files. The Event Probability Reports for these three weeks would be delivered to me on Wednesday morning.

****

That evening back in my hotel room, I lay in bed but could not sleep. I began mulling over the results of my analysis so far. I was becoming more and more convinced that someone was intentionally altering the input data that the probability calculations were based upon. I began to wonder who that person could be. I lay in bed thinking about the possibility that someone on the PEN team could be a traitor. Whoever it was, they needed to have the opportunity and the means. If the problem did not start until the first week in June, it would rule out Jeff, as he was already gone. Those that worked inside the raised floor area had special unrestrictive security clearances. They all had access to the computer files and computer runs. That included Jim, Chan, John, and now Jerry, who worked the off shifts when Chan was not on duty. It did not escape me that Jerry started working in the computer room about the same time that the problem started to occur. I judged that whoever was doing this needed to be doing it on a regular basis, and so I ruled out Bob Nunn. He was not there very much. He only showed up when there was a problem or a new software or hardware install. He had many other s to service in addition to ours. Was it possible that the Captain himself was

involved? He had an unrestricted security clearance. He also had direct knowledge of what the events were and how the events related to each other. He certainly had means and opportunity. However, as he was the one that discovered and reported the problem, it seemed illogical that he was the one. Lt. Nguyen, or Dee as the Captain called her, did not have an unrestricted security clearance, as did those working on the raised floor area. She was not authorized to see event descriptions or to be on the raised floor. Unless she was in some way using the Captain, it was questionable that she had the means. Means and opportunity was one thing, but there needed to be a motive as well. Everyone on the team was there voluntarily and had signed up for extra military . What would motivate them? I wondered. The antiwar movement was growing in the United States after the bombing to the North, and the defoliation in the South. Mostly, objections to the war were for ethical or moral reasons. No one I had talked with on the team had expressed any direct criticism to the war. Could it be money? Except for Danny and Chan, most of the team were well paid based on their rank. Danny, who was a sensitive sole, could have been motivated by an anti-war sentiment. In addition, Danny had expressed some feeling of not belonging. He said because of his low rank, but it could have been for other reasons. He said he had a close friend named Bruce who did not want him to socialize with us on Saturday night. Perhaps Bruce was more than just a friend. Perhaps Danny was homosexual. That was never discussed of course, but I was trying to consider all possibilities. If in fact he was homosexual, he could have been blackmailed. That would have been a powerful motivator. On the other hand, he did not have access to the computer room, nor did he? Then there was Chan. Chan’s father was Vietnamese and he had family still in the country. Chan had a Vietnamese girlfriend, Kim. Kim’s father had a job that could give him direct connections to the Viet Cong. Kim said that a couple of months ago, Chan and her father came to an agreement that allowed them to be together. Two months ago was when the problem started. Could Kim’s father have allowed Chan to have access to his daughter’s affections in exchange for acts of espionage? Sex could be a powerful motivator. Then I thought about the Captain again. He was a loose and free talker, and he seemed to have an intimate relationship with Dee. Could she have persuaded

him to manipulate data, or to leak classified information? Could he have been so concerned about protecting his career that he could have been blackmailed for a mistake? I did not think that was likely. I thought it to be more likely that if he was involved, it was because he unwittingly revealed information that he should not have revealed. That last thought brought up another thought. Wouldn’t the perpetrator need to be working with a on the outside? In addition to preventing or delaying MACV’s ability to see the true probabilities, wouldn’t they also want to know the actual event descriptions and the actual probabilities? Were they also stealing copies of the real results and the real event descriptions? These reports and the information they contained would certainly be valuable to the enemy. Perhaps the motivator was not money, but ideology. What should I do next? My head was spinning with thoughts. I could not go to sleep. I kept an opened bottle of brandy and plastic cups on the shelf inside the armoire. I poured a little and began to sip. Then I laid back down on the bed. I finally fell asleep.

****

Wednesday morning, I reviewed the Event Probability Reports that were in my printout box. For all three weeks, my test environment results were the same as the official results the Captain had gotten. The probability for Event 360 in the last week of May was ten percent, the only week in which both sets of data were presumed correct. I thought about what I was going to do next. Clearly, the input data was being altered, and I needed to find out who was doing it. On Wednesday afternoon, I made a decision. I did not consult with anyone. It was my belief that someone related to the PEN project was also a spy, and I needed to find out who it was without alerting any of the possible suspects. I had a plan. I would call Bob Nunn. Bob had the highest level of security possible and he would know exactly how to go into the computer files and obtain the information I needed. I called Bob on his business phone. He was not there, but I left a message for

him to call me back at MACV. He called me back about 3:30 in the afternoon. “Bob, thanks for calling me back. How are you?” “I am doing great, Peter. It has been awhile. I thought you went back to the States. What have you been up to?” “I did go home, but now I am back at MACV. Long story, but they have a problem here with the PEN application and they called me back to Saigon to fix it. I need your help, badly.” “You sound almost desperate. What is the problem?” “Before I tell you, I need you to swear to secrecy about this conversation. Can you do that?” “Well, within limits of the law of course.” “Okay Bob. I want to ask you to do something for me and for your country. You may say yes or you may say no, but either way I need you to pledge secrecy.” “You have my word.” “The PEN programs were not producing the expected results and Captain Weisman said that they suspected a programming error. They called me back to fix it. However, I have found strong evidence that the problem is due to espionage. Unfortunately, all of the people here are suspects, including the Captain. I need someone who can obtain the information I am looking for without alerting the others that they are suspects.” “Jeeze Peter, are you asking me to be a spy? I could get into big trouble.” “Bob, I am already putting my life at risk. The risk to you will be minimal. You have the technical skill to do this, and you have a security clearance that allows you the access. You can do this legally. Besides, you said you came here for the adventure. Well this is it! Please hear me out.” “What is it you want me to do?” I told him I was looking for the following:

• Printouts of the access logs or parts thereof that show who accessed the Event Description File (#32386)and when; • Printouts that show who and what programs accessed the Event Input Data File each week to copy or make changes to it (file numbers 32390-1 and -2.); • Who accessed and made changes to the PEN access authorization file and when (file #30000. Don’t ask how I know the number); • Who generated a PEN calculation report and when (Report #PEN 10). “How far back in time?” “At least two full weeks, a month if possible.” “Peter, I took notes as you were talking, but I want to be sure and get it right. I have a locked message box next to the computer room. I would appreciate it if you could write down what you just said, put it into a sealed envelope, and slip it into the slot for my box. One more thing…I hope you do not expect me to get this information out of the building.” “Nope, you do not even need to get it out of the raised floor area. Just put it into a Top Secret envelope and put it into my print box. I will retrieve it early Monday morning. Can you provide the Captain and John with a good cover as to why you need to be there over the weekend?” “That is not a problem. There is always a backlog of updates to install.” “Bob, if all of this plays out the way I think it will, you will be proud of the results.” “And if it doesn’t?”

“Then you may never see me again. Either way thanks.”

****

That Wednesday evening I met with Donna at our usual time and place. I had not talked to her since Saturday night, so the first thing I said was “I am very glad that we could take time to see the show over the weekend. I enjoyed your company. I trust you got home okay.” “I did… and thank you for the cab fare. You didn’t need to do that. I enjoyed the show and your company as well. I was glad to have a break.” “I needed a break as well,” I told her. “To be honest, I have been getting bored with the same routine each evening. I could use some new ideas for places to eat and things to do. I was wondering if you had been out to any interesting places to eat lately.” “Peter, you know I have an apartment. I make something for myself, so I don’t eat out very much. Where did you go for dinner tonight?” “On Wednesdays I usually eat across the street at the café. There is not enough time to do much else. Han asks if I am expecting you, but I say no. She said that she thought you lived nearby and did not understand why she did not see more of you.” “I never told her where I lived. It would be security risk. I hope you did not tell her.” “I did not. I will keep your secret. I promise.” We then talked business. “Peter, please tell me what is happening at MACV.” “Very well, the Captain has provided me with the “sandbox” test environment I had requested for further investigation. I expect this test environment will allow me to prove that the data used in the calculations was not the correct data. I expect the test environment will also allow me to determine what the correct

results should be. I strongly believe that someone on the project or in the data center is responsible. However, I do not know who yet. Most have the means, and some have motive as well” “Peter, tell me what you think of Lieutenant Nguyen.” “Well I am suspicious of her. I sense that she has been putting obstacles in my way. I also wonder if she and the Captain have something going on based on the way they were acting on Saturday. And I am afraid that the Captain could unwittingly give her information she should not have.” “Hmmm… I have had my suspicions as well. I did not want to alert Captain Weisman of my suspicions, so last Saturday at the USO event, I had a brief conversation with Chan. I asked him if he thought there was something going on between the Captain and the Lieutenant, but I couldn’t get much from him. However, I think the Captain is an honorable man who would never betray his country. On the other hand, you should be wary of Nguyen and keep an eye on her.” “Donna, have you been holding something back from me?” “You must realize that we are looking at a broader picture than what you are involved in, or even what I am involved in.” “Yes, I kind of thought as much. So what’s the broader picture?” “Well I can’t tell you too much.” “Tell me what you can then.” “We have been losing information. There seems to be a leak. We suspect that there could be multiple people involved. We are trying to link some suspects to other people.” “We have also had our suspicions that the Lieutenant could be linked, but we have no hard evidence.” “What made you suspicious?” “We got suspicious when we linked her to someone else that was suspicious.”

“Interesting…I thought you guys did thorough background checks. How could the Lieutenant all those background checks and still be working for the enemy?” “We did do background checks, and we have no idea how she could have ed them and be working for the enemy. We can only speculate.” I began to show a little impatience and asked, “Why are you just telling me this now?” “Peter, stay calm. It was a judgement call on the part of the CIA. I did not tell you this because we wanted you to remain objective and do an independent investigation. I had some hesitation about bringing you back, because I was afraid it may put you at risk and the job may require skills that you may not have. On the other hand, no one else could do it better. We needed you to help nail it all down. How was it done, who is involved, and what is the evidence? I would like you to keep an eye on Lieutenant Nguyen. Are you okay with that?” I looked directly at her and gave her a resounding “Yes. Please stop trying to protect me. The more I know the better. I can handle it.” “Peter I am sorry.” She sounded sincere. Then I told Donna about my idea and what I had asked Bob to do. “I think I have a way to determine who is responsible, I told her. I made a decision this morning and took some action you need to know about. It can still be reversed, but I hope you will agree to go forward with it. I have asked Bob Nunn, the IBM Customer Engineer, to retrieve some critical data for me. I have asked him to provide copies of the access logs that show who has accessed what programs and data. Bob would do his thing over the coming weekend, and I will get the results on Monday early. We should know for sure on Monday who the culprit is, whether it is Nguyen or someone else. I did not want to alert the Captain or anyone ahead of time because we do not know for sure who is involved, nor would we want anyone to alert someone else as to my plan.” “Does your security level allow you to see this?” “Possibly not, but Bob’s does. And, the information can stay in the building until we need it.”

“I am not sure; it sounds risky.” “Not so much,” I responded. “What is the worst that can happen? Anyway, we really need this information, and I know of no better way to get it.” “Peter, you are turning out to be more of a risk taker than I thought, but if there is a spy on the team we need to know who it is. You are the expert in this case. If you think this is the best way to get what we need, then I have to go with your decision. Just don’t get caught.”

****

On Thursday morning, I had copies of the incorrect data files that Nguyen had provided for my sand box, and I also had the correct data reports from the Captain. I had found where the differences were. I could now correct my data files and run the calculation program against the corrected files. I did this for the three weeks of data that I had. Rather than permanently correcting my data files, however, I submitted change cards with the calculation run that temporarily changed the data that was wrong while the calculations were run My first output, for the last week in May, arrived and appeared to be okay. As I expected, this report was identical to the calculation report that the Captain had received. The second report, for the last week in June, did not arrive, and I resubmitted it. It finally came. This good report was clearly different from the bad report that the Captain had received. The good calculation report would list all of the temporary data changes that I ran to make it correct. While reviewing this corrected calculation report, I noticed that it was possible to remove the pages from the report that listed the data changes without any indication that they had been removed. Those pages preceded the actual report and did not have page numbers. Unless the receiver of the report was looking for those pages, they would not know those pages were missing. In other words, someone could make changes that affected the calculations, and by removing the control card pages from the printout, no one would know. Just one more thing to consider I thought.

The calculation run I submitted for the second week in July did not show up in my print box. I asked Chan if someone else had picked up my report. He thought that Nguyen might have. I resubmitted it. This time I went to the print box before anyone else could. The report was there, and it showed a probability of thirty-five percent for Event 360. So far, I had only generated two weeks of good new results, the last week of June, and the second week of July. I needed to add more weeks. I requested the copied input data files for the last two weeks in July from Nguyen, but she only gave me the third week. I still expected to receive the fourth week. During the next three workdays, I was able to generate a corrected calculation report for the third week of July. That meant I now had three weeks of corrected but unofficial results. As soon as I received the fourth week of input data from Nguyen, I would also be able to run a calculation report for that week as well. Computer runs were time-consuming back then. Everything was done in batch mode, not in real time like today. Comparing the Event Input Data file that I had against the correct one took time. ing that I was submitting all of the control cards and necessary data changes also took time. After I ran the calculations for the third week in July, I went to the print box before anyone else could. It was there and showed a probability of thirty-seven percent for Event 360.

****

At the Friday meeting with the Captain, I told him of my findings for the last week of June and the second and third weeks of July using my test environment. I told him I had identified the input data discrepancies for those weeks, and I had generated corrected output reports for those weeks. I also told the Captain that I verified that the discrepancies started in the first week in June as we had thought, and that I had copies of those reports. “Captain, the third week in July shows a true probability of thirty-seven percent that Event 360 will occur. I expect the fourth week to be higher.” “Peter I was hoping you would have that report to show me as well.”

“I also had planned to have those results for you today so that we could compare to the official report you received yesterday. However, that is dependent upon my receiving a copy of the Event Input Data file for that week from Nguyen. I requested it but have not received it yet.” Later that afternoon, Lieutenant Nguyen came by my cubicle. “Captain Weisman say I not give you what you need. You have problem you see me.” Her tone was angry. “Lieutenant, I only told him that I was waiting for you to provide another week of data for my test environment. I did not express dissatisfaction.” “Well, you have it on Monday,” she snapped back. “Thank you,” I said. “Enjoy your weekend. I will see you on Monday.”

****

Fourth Week Back

It was Monday, July 30. I was eager to see what Bob had left for me, so I arrived at work very early, before anyone else. The first thing I did was to head toward my printout box. I retrieved the package that Bob left for me and was on my way back to my cubicle when I encountered Lt. Nguyen on her way down the stairs. “Good Morning Lieutenant. You are here early.” “I like to get early start on Mondays,” she responded as she made her way to the printout boxes. I guessed that she was there to retrieve the latest Event Input Data Report for the Captain. Back in my cubicle, I began to read the logs that Bob had provided. He had taken special care to highlight the lines that were most relevant. The logs showed that Nguyen had made several changes to the access authorization table that explained the “NOT AUTHORIZED” messages that we had received as

delaying tactics. Most importantly, the logs showed that Nguyen had used her authorization code to make an extra copy of the correct input data reports. Each week, it was standard procedure for Chan to make a copy of the input data file. The log showed that Nguyen initiated a calculation run against the copied file on Monday to be delivered to herself on Wednesdays. Those calculation results would therefore be correct. She then initiated changes to the copied file on Tuesday mornings. That was not standard procedure. The access authorization files showed that only Nguyen had authority to change or print the copied input file, and that the calculation program was only allowed to run against the copied file. The calculation program was not allowed to run against the original correct input data file. Nguyen was the only one that accessed the access authorization file. This explained how Nguyen obtained the correct calculations for herself, and then, why after that all of the file copies differed from the originals, and why the calculated results that the Captain saw were always wrong. The logs showed that the correct input data reports were delivered to the printout boxes on Monday mornings, and calculation results (not correct) were delivered to the Captain’s printout box on Thursday mornings. In addition, the logs showed that the Captain’s latest Event Description Reports were printed on Monday mornings and delivered to his restricted access printout box. The logs from Bob also showed that the only authorization code accessing the event descriptions (updating the file or initiating a report) belonged to the Captain. This was as it should be. However, the logs showed that one of those reports was initiated on a day that the Captain was not in the office, so obviously he did not initiate it. A special authorization code was required to run this report. It was possible that Nguyen had stolen the Captain’s special authorization code. I looked at my watch, and noticed that it was getting close to lunchtime. I was about to leave my cubicle for lunch when I spotted the Lieutenant entering the computer room, a place I did not think she had authority to be. I watched as she went to the Captain’s very secure printout box and removed a thin report. Only the Captain knew the access code, so the only way she could get to it would have been from inside the computer room. I was quite sure that it was a report of the Event Description Report. I figured that like the Event Input Data Report, it also would only be five pages in length at most. I watched her place the report into a large plain envelope. These descriptions could be very valuable to the enemy. Not only would the enemy learn what we thought they were doing, but the

enemy would also learn what counter measure events we were planning. I watched her leave the computer room carrying the envelope and start up the stairs. I followed, and paused to look in through the door to the computer room as I ed. No one else was in the room. Chan was on his lunch break. I went up the stairs and as I came to Danny’s station, the Lieutenant was no longer in sight. “Danny, did you by any chance see the Lieutenant?” “Actually she just went by. I think she went into her office.” “Thanks Danny.” I walked down the hall to the Lieutenant’s office. The door was closed, so I went back to Danny. “Danny could you do me a favor?” “I suppose, what do you need?” “ back when Jeff left. Did he ever return his badge to the Computer room?” “I do not . Let me check.” He pulled out a log he kept, and flipped the pages. “No actually he did not. The badge went missing.” I assumed that when I encountered Lt. Nguyen early in the morning, she was on her way to retrieve the correct Event Input Data Report and now she had the latest Event Description Report as well. I then wondered what she would do with those reports. Did she just pick off some information she was interested in seeing and then throw the report into the trash? More likely, I thought, was that she would try to smuggle the reports out of the building and deliver them to her superiors, whoever they might be. Many of us would go out to lunch. It would be logical to think that Lt. Nguyen would want to get something like unauthorized reports out of the building as soon as possible and in the least conspicuous way possible. Just then, the Lieutenant reappeared. As she went by, she said she was going out

to lunch. We both replied together, “See you later.” The Lieutenant was not carrying an envelope. As she went by, I thought the back of her blouse had some sharp edges. She could have used the time in her office to remove the title pages and the tractor edges from the pages. She could easily have secured up to ten report pages under her blouse, behind her back. I then told Danny, “I will talk to you later. I need to get some fresh air before I go down to the canteen.” I went out the front door in time to see the Lieutenant get into the front seat of a black VW Beetle. She obviously knew the driver. It was far away but I was quite sure that he was Vietnamese.

****

On Tuesday, I met with the Captain as planned. “Captain I have an idea. I know we did something like this two weeks ago, but I now have much more information. If you , I was not able to make temporary changes to the official Event Input Data files. The Lieutenant had told me I was not authorized. I asked her if I could be and she said she would talk to you. I assume she has not done so, and I still do not have that authorization.” “No, she has not talked to me about that. Would you like me to ask her about that?” Well, at this point I think there is a quicker way. If you are okay with it, we can just use your authorization. “What would you like me to do?” “What I would like you to do is to ask the Lieutenant to re-submit an event probability calculation run for the fourth week in July using temporary data change cards that I would provide. You could tell her you need to see the effect of a change you are considering, or whatever. As in my test mode, these cards would temporarily correct the Event Input Data File while the calculations were performed. If successful, this would provide correct results.

I am also making appropriate comparisons for the same week using my test environment. This morning, the Lieutenant did give me the copied Event Input Data File for that week, so I can do that now. And, I have one more request. I would also like you to allow me to use your authorization code so that I can also submit a run independently of the Lieutenant.” The Captain looked directly at me with a questioning look and asked, “Peter, tell me straight, do you think that the Lieutenant may be involved somehow in changing the data?” I looked him straight in the eye and said, “I think it is a strong possibility Captain.” “Well, Peter. I suppose we will find out. Okay let’s do it,” he agreed. I expected that the output reports for all three runs would be in our printout boxes the next morning. As agreed, the Captain gave the Lieutenant the cards I had provided and asked her to submit them on his behalf. What he gave as a reason for his request I do not know. Also, as we had agreed, the Captain notified me as soon as the Lieutenant went down the stairs to submit the run through the card reader. Donna had said I should keep an eye on “Dee,” and I had already observed suspicious activity on the Lieutenant’s part, so I had no problem spying on her from afar. I secretly watched her remove the change cards from the deck that the Captain had given her. I watched as she tore them in half and tossed them into a trashcan. I later retrieved them from the trashcan, and put the “evidence” into my locked cabinet.

****

Early Wednesday morning, I went to the printout boxes. I retrieved from my box the Event Probability Report that I had generated in my test environment using

the same change cards I had given the Captain. The report would show the correct event probabilities. Then I peered through the glass to see what was in the Lieutenant’s and in the Captain’s printout boxes. The report on the Lieutenant’s box and the two reports in the Captain’s box all appeared to be Event Probability Reports. Then I hid in a nearby empty cubicle that offered me a clear view of the printout boxes. From my vantage point, I watched the Lieutenant go to her printout box and remove her Event Probability Report. This would have the correct probabilities, and would be one she would secretly keep for herself. Then I watched the Lieutenant go to the Captain’s printout box and remove those two reports. The one report would have been the report she submitted after tearing up the data change cards. She would deliver that one to the Captain. The other report would have been the one that I submitted using the Captain’s authorization code. It would have been correct, but now the Lieutenant had it. She clearly did not want the Captain to see it. She did not need to keep it because she already had a correct Event Probability Report that she had generated for herself. I watched as she tore the report into several pieces and tossed them into the classified waste bin. In 1967, office paper shredders were not prevalent like they are today. The procedure at MACV was that someone would make the rounds later that day, collect all of the classified waste paper, and take it to a central location to be destroyed. Fortunately, there was plenty of time before that would happen. I waited until the Lieutenant headed back up the stairs to her office, and retrieved the torn up pieces of the report from the classified waste bin. I added them to the other evidence that I had locked up in my cabinet. Back in my cubicle, I reviewed the Event Probability Report I had generated using the corrected data in my test environment. My report showed that for the last week in July, Event 360 had a correct probability of forty percent. The Captains official report that he received on Thursday was not correct and had a much lower value. I was beginning to build a case against the Lieutenant. However, I was careful not to say too much to the Captain for fear it would get back to her. Although the Captain may not be a spy, he may have been guilty of running a loose ship or being too trusting. Regardless, I would report everything to Donna. Apparently, I was getting close to the truth.

****

The evening of Wednesday August 2 was a regular meeting night with Donna. She came over to my room at 7:00 PM after we both separately had supper. I tried to anticipate her questions. I knew she would need more hard evidence. Right now, I had some, but I needed to report my observations and get some guidance on how to proceed. She took a seat on the sofa, and I sat across from her on the desk chair. “Peter what can you tell me? Did you get anything back from Bob yet?” “Yes I did.” I then gave her a summary of what I knew. I told her that I felt I was close to solving the puzzle. I told her I had a good idea as to how the data had been doctored and manipulated without detection. I told her I had reproduced the method used to alter the results, and told her I had corrected results for several of the past weeks. I told her that my test bed run for the prior week showed a corrected event probability for Event 360 at that point in time to be forty percent. These results were significantly higher than those on the official reports were. I also said that I believed that the Lieutenant was the perpetrator, a spy, and the information from Bob totally ed this. I told her I had not reported this to the Captain yet. “I was afraid this could be the case.” “What was…that I did not report it to the Captain?” “No! Stop it. You know what I mean. I was afraid it would be the Lieutenant.” “Why do I think the picture is broader than you have already told me?” “Well, you asked the key question yourself. You asked how we could have done a thorough background check without seeing this coming.” “Yes I . What is the answer?” “The answer is that her identity was manufactured.” “When?”

“Before the Captain knew her, before she applied for the MACV position, and before she went to the USA for officer training.” “If her identity was manufactured and was good enough to your background checks, doesn’t that imply that some high level people were involved?” “It does. Now you know why I said I was afraid.” “Yes. In the past, you have been protective of me. Now I wish I could protect you.” “It is nice to know you care, but I can handle it.” “Fair enough. Any guidance as to what I should do next?” “I would like you to keep providing corrected PEN information to the Captain. Do not tell him what you have on the Lieutenant. Let me know if anything changes.” “Yes Ma’am,” I replied.

****

The official Event Probability Reports were delivered on Thursday mornings. The reports included a summary diagram of the network. Each node would have an event number and the probability of occurrence. The summary fit on about five pages of printer size paper. Of course, the probabilities on the Captain’s report would not have been correct whereas the version delivered to Nguyen on Wednesday would have been correct. The Captain would review his report and all of the detailed input reports from Monday, and then he would meet with his intelligence operatives in the afternoon. They would then make changes that would be input on Friday morning and the cycle would repeat. I anticipated that Nguyen would want those five pages from both the correct version and the incorrect version of the calculation summary report, and that she would use lunchtimes on Thursdays to remove them both from the building.

Once again, I ed that Donna had suggested that I keep an eye on the Lieutenant. Before lunch, I took myself up to the second floor of the building, went to the end of a hallway, and waited by the window. The window at the end of the hallway provided an excellent view of the guard gate and the street beyond. Sure enough, at almost precisely noon, I saw Lt. Nguyen leave the premise and get into the same black VW that I saw on Monday. However, I could see no indication that she had a report with her. The guard would have searched her bag. If the guard had seen it with her, and she did not have the required security , she would have been detained. If she had the reports with her, she must have hidden it in a secret compartment of her purse, or somewhere on her person under her clothing, as I suspected on Monday. The only other alternative that I could think of was that the reports were still in her office. I did not think that very likely, but just in case, I walked down the stairs and by her office. Her office door was locked. Probably just as well because just after I tried the door, the Captain came around the corner. He would have caught me.

****

On Friday morning at the end of my fourth week, I received a very scary warning. It was tucked between pages one and two of a printout in my print box. It was hand written in big block letters using a marker.

PEN WILL NOT SAVE LIVES BUT YOU CAN STILL SAVE YOURS.

My meeting that afternoon with the Captain was difficult. I showed him the corrected predicted probability reports from my test environment. “Captain, Event 360 is now showing a probability of forty percent, and the target events that followed are almost as high. I am able to do all of this in my test environment, but I wish I could get the official reports to run correctly in your official environment.” “Peter, I asked the Lieutenant why the test we did with the change cards on

Wednesday did not show a higher probability.” “What did she say?” “She told me that the data was already correct and therefore the change cards had no effect. She said that proves it to be a program code error.” “Do you believe her?” “No, Peter, I do not.” I did not tell him about the evidence I had against her, nor did I mention the threatening note.

****

As soon as I returned to my hotel on Friday evening the fourth, I put an envelope into Donna’s mailbox. It contained the threat I had received, and a note from me explaining where I found it. I went for supper. When I returned, Donna was waiting for me in the lobby. “Let’s go to your room,” she said. Once inside, she spoke emphatically. “Peter, I am thinking about pulling you off this project!” My response was a loud “WHAT?” “I am concerned for your safety. I do not want to see you get killed.” “Slow down,” I demanded. “I will be fine! We are very close to solving this case, and you need me to finish it. Lieutenant Nguyen is a spy, and you need me to provide the proof. You also want to know who is pulling her strings, and I can help with that. At this point, I know what she is doing and how she does it. If she wasn’t a Vietnamese citizen you could take her into custody now, but I know that you need hard evidence before the local authorities will allow it. We are almost there. Just let me complete what I have started.”

“Tell me what you know in detail, and then we can talk about what is next.” I gave her the following detail and I laid it on heavy: “Lieutenant Nguyen maintains the access authorizations. The authorizations are a combination of the person and the program that tries to access the file. She has made it so that no one other than herself can run the calculation program against the data file containing the correct data. She set up the access authorizations so that no one could ever run the calculation program against the original correct data files. She also has made it so that only she, the Captain, and later myself can run the calculation program. For generating data file reports, only the file with the correct input data can be accessed to generate a data report. Early each Monday she retrieves a copy of the newly updated data report, and later at lunch when no one is in the raised floor area, she steals the updated Event Description Report from the Captains special printout box. She smuggles these reports out of the building at lunchtime on Mondays. Each weekend, the good data files are copied. Both sets are kept. On Monday, Nguyen initiates a calculation run against the correct Event Input Data File. She receives this calculation report on Wednesday in her own printout box. She stores this report in her office until lunchtime on Thursday. On Tuesday morning, Nguyen summits unauthorized change cards that she keeps in her office, and permanently changes the copied version of the Event Input Data File. This assures that any future calculation runs will be incorrect. The Captain gets his bad calculation report on Thursday. These calculations are inconsistent with the good Event Input Data File Report that is the only version of the file one can officially see. On Thursday morning, Nguyen gets a copy of the same incorrect calculation report that the Captain receives. At lunchtime, she smuggles the summary pages of this report and the summary pages of the correct version she received on Wednesday out of the building. She smuggles these reports out of the building by hiding them on her person, probably inside her blouse. The Lieutenant is not authorized to access the Event Description File because that is above her security level and she cannot control access to that file. Therefore, at some prior point in time she made a copy of the Captain’s control card, which contains his special access code for that security level. She uses the

copy of his card to run the Event Description Report. The program has the Captain’s special security authorization code and for that reason, the report ends up in the Captains special security print box, to which only he has authorized access. Therefore, the Lieutenant must steal the report out of the Captains print box before he sees it. She purposely does this on Mondays at lunch when no one else is in the raised floor area. The Lieutenant uses Jeff’s unreturned access card to enter the computer room when Chan is out to lunch. The Captain would normally print more than one copy. If an extra copy, or one fewer copy were to end up in the Captains special print box, that would not be too hard to explain. On the days the Lieutenant smuggles the reports out, she gets picked up by a Vietnamese man driving a black VW Beetle. The Lieutenant left the threatening note. I know this because when I first met her, I asked if she thought that PEN would save lives. She just gave me her answer. We already have the logs that Bob provided. They clearly show that the Lieutenant has accessed files and run programs over the past month that she had no business to access or run. In addition, we know that she frequently changed the access codes that she controlled to suit her needs.” As I finished, Donna stared at me wide eyed. “Okay, okay already. I don’t think I need to hear any more right now. Actually, it is a lot to . It sounds like you have nailed down every detail.” “Yes, I have nailed it all down, but you do not need to memorize it. I will document it for you.” “Peter, what have you told the Captain?” “I have not told him that I think the Lieutenant is a spy. Until now, I was not sure I could trust him not to tip her off. Now, however, the threatening note would suggest that she already knows that I am onto her. However, I do not know how the Captain will react when he learns. As you know, he is sweet on Dee. Another thing that I can do is get the license plate of the car and a better description of the man who will pick up the Lieutenant on Monday. He may….” Donna interrupted, and excitedly said, “No, Peter no need. That should be my job. I will have a colleague stake out the building and I will drive you to work

next week and pick you up. You should be safe inside the building.” “Donna, please,” I said as calmly as I could. “You do not need to drive me to work. I will be fine. I will plan to ride to work with Jim.” “I am sorry Peter. I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” “I know, and I appreciate your concern. However, I do need your help on something. I need a favor. I am accumulating incriminating documents in my locked cabinet at work. To get them out of the building I will need special authorization from the MACV HQ Colonel in charge of security. I understand that he will need something from your boss before he will give it to me, and it has to be for a specific day.” “What day were you thinking?” “How about next Wednesday?” “Okay, let me handle that.” Then Donna changed the subject. “Peter, may I talk to you as a friend?” “Of course. What is bothering you?” “Well… you have a family and a child on the way. It is something very important to you. It’s a life I may never have. It’s difficult for me to form close relationships with the job I have, but many of the people I have been close to have either left or died. That includes my younger brother who died in a car accident when he was only sixteen, and several people I have known in Saigon who were blown to bits. There are colleagues that I can talk business with, but no one I can really confide in about personal things. I probably need a girlfriend but there are not too many women here. There is Han, but she does not speak English very well. When I go back home to the States, I can’t say too much about what I do, and my Mom is not a very understanding person anyway.” “What about Linda? I thought you were able to confide in her” “Oh, I guess I never told you. Since you were here in March, John and Linda have separated. Linda is back in the States.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” After a brief pause to recollect her thoughts, Donna continued. “What I am trying to say is that you should cherish what you have. This project is not worth dying for.” “Well, I appreciate your concern, but I suppose it is my choice to make, isn’t it? Why are you so concerned about me?” “Because I like you and I care about you!” she replied emphatically, and with feeling. “Donna, I would like it if we could just be friends.” “Isn’t that what we are Peter? Aren’t friends supposed to care about each other?” she said softly. Her display of feelings had been more than I expected, but she was right, we were friends. “Yes, of course,” I said, and nodded in the affirmative. When our meeting was over, Donna started to get up from the sofa, but before it was too late, I blurted out “Donna before you go, I would like to ask you something. I would like to invite you to have dinner with me after we meet next Wednesday.” She paused, got an inquisitive expression, and then asked, “Are you asking me out on a date?” “No. Uh…of course not. It is just that if all goes well, we will be wrapping up my mission here. I will probably be heading home the week after next. Before I go, I wanted to show you my appreciation for all you have done for me. You have given me guidance, looked out for my interests, and I have really enjoyed working with you, not to mention the party and the USO, those bike tours, and even allowing me to drive your bike that time.” She smiled and then asked, “Are you asking anyone else to go with us?” The accent was on the word “else.” “Uh no,” I responded.

“Then if it is not a date, what would you call it?” “A non-date?” is what I managed to get out, but I was beginning to feel like I had stepped into quicksand. I think she could see I was struggling and possibly embarrassed, so in a serious tone she said, “Peter, I am just toying with you. I would love to have dinner with you. May I ask what you have planned for this weekend?” “Oh, Jim and his guys are taking me somewhere tomorrow evening to play pool, and during the day I need to tend to laundry and letter writing, and some shopping. My mother-in-law collects china elephants. I was thinking about going over to the shop that Kim works in for that. Also, I am still reading ‘The Quiet American.’” “Sounds like you are busy,” she said, sounding somewhat disappointed…Peter, you said you were going to go to the shop where Chan’s girlfriend works. How were you planning to get there?” “I was going to take a cab, why?” “Please let me take you.” Then as she noticed my quizzical expression, she added, “I need to do an errand over there anyway. It would not be a problem.” “The weather will be rainy tomorrow…not conducive to riding your bike.” “I will bring the jeep”

12 CHASING THE EVIDENCE–CHOLON

It was Saturday morning. I had something to eat downstairs and met Donna out front at 9:00 AM as agreed. It was drizzling rain so I was glad that she had the covered Jeep. We sped off toward Cholon. We were about a quarter mile from the store where Kim worked, when Donna pulled off the street and shut off the engine. “Uh…Donna what are we doing? Why did you pull over?” “We need to talk.” “Why? Are we breaking up?” “Peter, this is no joke. It has to do with business. I just found out that Chan has not been to work since Wednesday. Why did you not tell me?” “Why would you need to know that?” “, I told you that we were looking at a people chain of possible VC ers?” “Yes. Do you think that Chan is involved?” “Yes he is involved but not how you think. We think that Kim’s father, Pham Mung, is a VC er. We think he is using his government position to import arms for the VC.” “So is Mung using his daughter to lure Chan into revealing classified information?” “Peter, Chan has been working for us. He has been using his relationship with Kim to help us determine what is going on.” “Wow…Poor Kim.” “Chan did not take advantage of Kim. He was involved with Kim before he

started helping us. He did not want to get involved with us, but because of his relations with Kim, he had a few infractions of the military rules regarding where he was supposed to be and when. We told him these would remain secret if he helped us.” “Wow…Poor Chan.” “Stop being a wise ass. I need your help! Why did you not tell me Chan was missing?” Donna was clearly upset, but I did not think it was with me. “Sorry. I wish you had told me that Chan was important to you. I asked Jim of his whereabouts on Thursday when Jim asked me to him and the guys for a night out tonight. Jim told me that Chan had told him Wednesday that he may be coming in late on Thursday. When he did not show up, Jim thought he could be sick. On Friday, I asked the Captain. The Captain said he was AWOL for unknown reasons. I thought that it was Jim’s issue and the Captain’s issue, not mine.” Then I thought for a moment, looked at Donna and asked, “How did you know he was missing? The Captain said Jim had not reported it yet.” “Because he missed his meeting with me Thursday night.” She sounded irritated. This left me wondering why she was upset with me when in fact she already knew on Thursday evening that something was wrong. I also reflected on John lecturing me about “emotional intelligence” back in March. I refrained from over reacting, but I was not going to let it go. “Donna you sound like you are upset with me.” “No, I’m not. I am upset with myself. I feel responsible. Sorry.” “Do you think that Chan could have gone off with Kim, eloped or something? Do you think Kim would know where he is? “Maybe.” “From what you are telling me now, it sounds like he may be in trouble. Is that what you think?” “I do.”

“How can I help?” “I want you to go into the shop like you had planned. I want you to buy that china elephant, and you should buy your wife something too.” I did not like her telling me I should buy my wife something, but I restrained myself, and she continued. “The sales person will likely either be Kim or Kim’s Mama. Engage them in pleasant conversation. See if they have heard from Chan. If so, when… that sort of thing. “Perhaps you should me.” “Kim knows you from the USO event and knows that you work with Chan. She and her mama should not be suspicious of you asking polite questions. Do not challenge or argue with their answers. Okay?” “Got it, you need to trust me.” “I also want for you to observe the scene, like who is in the store, and is anything going on in the back room….but don’t get caught snooping.” “Okay. It may take me about half an hour. Will you pick me up out front of the store?” “I’ll drop you off a little closer now and spare you the rain. Then I will drive around a bit. I’ll give you half an hour, and keep a look out. It won’t be precise. If Kim asks how you got here tell her by cab.” I entered the shop and set off a chime as I did so. I looked around and saw that Kim was helping a customer or so I thought. When she was done, her customer went into the back room behind a heavy curtain, at which point she noticed me. “Oh hello, didn’t we meet a couple of weeks ago at the USO show?” “Yes, Kim, we did. You ed. I told you my mother in-law collected china elephants and that I would stop by. Well here I am. How have you been?” “I’m Okay thank you…..uh Mr. Peter?” “Yes.”

“Well let me show you what I have.” So far so good, I am thinking as she led me to a cabinet with some very interesting china figurines and the like. As I began to ire the collection, Kim got a serious expression and asked, “Mr. Peter, have you seen Chan? How is he?” That was my opening. “Kim, I thought he came to see you on the weekends. Isn’t he here?” “No he is not. I don’t think he wants to see me anymore.” “Why would you say that? I thought he really cared about you. What happened?” “I don’t know. We had a small argument last weekend, but then this weekend he just did not show up. There was no word, nothing. I left a message for him at the Brinks this morning, but have not heard anything. Peter have you seen him recently? Did he say anything to you?” I was really beginning to feel sorry for her so I said, “Kim, I have to tell you something. I don’t want you to be alarmed but I think you deserve to know this. I have not seen him since Wednesday. He was not at work on Thursday and Friday, and I’m also concerned. I was actually hoping that you could give me some information.” “Oh, do you think that something bad may have happened to him?” “I don’t think we should jump to conclusions. You said you had an argument. May I ask what it was about?” “It was nothing. I caught Chan snooping in my father’s office. He denied it and said he was just curious about the clock on the wall. However, two days later my father came out of his office and seemed very irritated about something. I asked him what was wrong, and he said that something was missing from his office. Then he asked if Chan had been in his office. I had to it that he was.” “Do you think this has anything to do with why Chan does not want to see me anymore?” “I don’t know, but Kim I do know that he really does love you.” Another

customer was entering the store, so I said, “you need to attend to another customer so let me pick out an elephant and we can talk again in a few moments.” I did not know much about collector elephants so I picked out one that was clearly worth a few dollars but that was not too big as I wanted to transport it in my suitcase. Then on the way back to the counter and Kim, I ed a rack of silk scarves. What the heck, Penelope would like one, I thought. As I approached the counter, I noticed that the other customer was also going into the back room behind the heavy curtain. I ed back in Rochester, I had observed a similar occurrence at my local barbershop. In that case, there was a regular and illegal card game going on. I wondered what was going on in this case. “Did you decide Mr. Peter? Oh, yes very nice choice. This china is very fine with great detail. I think she will like it. I will make sure that it is well wrapped and packaged. Did you want to ship it?” I thought for a moment. Probably an unfounded suspicion, but something in my gut said not to let them know where my wife and I lived; furthermore, if things went sour with Kim’s father, I wondered if I would ever see the elephant again. “Kim do you think it would be safe if I carried it home in my suitcase?” “Yes. I think so. I will package it for you. Oh…and what else do you have?” “I thought my wife would like a silk scarf.” “That is very thoughtful of you. If you buy two scarves the second one is half price.” “You sold me. I will take another as well.” She rang me up. Not cheap, but I thought it was worth it, and besides she had given me a great deal of information. She said she would be willing to accept dollars if I so choose. I had not been to the bank, so I gave her forty American dollars. It was a win-win. As we were conducting our transaction, I noticed a movement and a shadow on the other side of the heavy curtain. Was it my paranoia, or could someone be listening in to our conversation? Nevertheless I continued. “Kim, if you learn anything more as to Chan’s whereabouts, please let me know. You can reach me

at the Continental Palace Hotel. Ask for Peter Troutman.” I wrote my name and my room number onto a scrap of paper, and placed it in her hand. “If I learn anything I will let you know as well.” “Mr. Peter, how are you getting back? I could call you a cab.” “No that’s okay. I thought that while I was here I should check out a few other shops and cafés…but thanks. Take care.” As I exited the shop, I caught a glimpse of a woman popping out from behind the curtain and walking over to Kim. Perhaps it was Kim’s mama. I began walking down the sidewalk. It was getting very warm. The drizzle had stopped but it was overcast and no sun. After I had walked about a block, Donna came by in the Jeep and I hopped in. We drove off until we came to a place where we could park and talk. “Well did you buy what you came for?” she asked as she turned in her seat so she could face me. “Yes I did. Would you like to see?” I did not wait for a reply and began opening the box containing the elephant. I was actually rather excited about my purchase and wanted to share it. The box was barely opened when Donna stopped me. “Peter, it’s okay. I am not a connoisseur of fine china or elephants, but I am sure your mother-in law will appreciate it. Looks like you have something else there as well.” “I bought a silk scarf for Penelope.” “It is very nice,” she said. She sounded disheartened without much enthusiasm, and she had pretty much sucked away the joy I had contemplated sharing with her. “You seem to have two of them.” “Yes I do. Would you like to have one?” Without waiting for an answer, I said, “I would like you to have one. I bought the second one for you.” She seemed to be getting emotional but before she could say anything, I said, “Please, I want you to try it on. It will look really good on you.”

At this point, she was clearly upset and she let me have it. “Peter you need to keep both of them for you wife!…Please tell be about Kim and Chan!” I took me a moment to recover from her bitchiness and then I proceeded. “Of course.” I told her everything I saw and said while I was in the shop, including a description of the customers that disappeared into the back room, and my conversations with Kim. “I do not think Kim knows what happened to Chan or why he did not show up Friday night as planned. I also think she is genuinely concerned for his welfare. We agreed to be in touch if either of us learns more about what happened to Chan. It may have been a mistake, but I gave her my room number at the hotel. She did reveal something that may have a bearing on this. She said that she caught Chan snooping in her father’s office, and that she was forced to reveal that to her father on Monday when her father noticed something was missing…I think you already knew this from Chan, am I right?” “Why do you think I already knew?” “Because you told me ‘not to get caught snooping’. Do you ? It is also something that Chan should have told you.” “Hmmm” “So I was right. What do you want to do next?” “You said you had planned a night out with Jim and a couple of other guys tonight. Is that still on?” “Yes.” “I want you to enlist Jim’s help. Chan reports to him, and they both live at the Brinks BOQ. Chan would keep evidence that he collected in his room, in his underwear draw, according to him. It is possible that there is still evidence in his room that I never saw, including what he took from Pham’s office last weekend. I think that if you can appeal to Jim’s patriotism and desire to find out what happened to Chan, he would be willing to search Chan’s room. Jim would need to convince Chan’s roommate. This needs to be done before Chan is officially reported AWOL or missing. Once that happens we lose control.” “What is it specifically that we would be looking for in Chan’s room?”

“We are looking for a miniature camera, an envelope with documents, and undeveloped rolls of film from a larger camera that may also be there. It would be a Nikon and probably have a telescopic lens. If that camera is there, we only need the film that is inside, not the camera itself.” I could sense irritation in her voice as she spoke. “Okay. I know that you are upset by all of this, but you need to know I am on your side and am going to do everything I can to help.” “I told you I feel responsible. Chan may be dead!” “Okay, Donna, you did not do anything wrong. I will try to talk to Jim before we go out tonight, and I will let you know what we find in Chan’s room.” “Peter, it is up to you, but it may be better if only Jim searched the room, but whatever is found, I want him to give it to you, and I want you to give it to me. I will come to your room Monday night as we have already planned…Jim is probably already aware that you are doing a project for the CIA, but you need to keep me out of it. I need to maintain my USAID cover. Do you understand?” I knew she was upset, but it was hard not to react negatively to her tone. “Donna, please relax. It will be okay. We do the best we can. That is all anyone can expect of themselves.” “Peter I may have lost Chan. I am afraid I could lose you too!” Then she changed the subject. “You said you were running out of dong. Tell me what you need. I will give you an advance on Monday when I see you.” “Okay maybe another five thousand dong. Thanks.” “Donna, please let me off at my hotel. “I’ll be in touch.”

****

As soon as I got up to my room, I put my parcels away, went downstairs for a

quick bit of lunch, and then walked over to the lobby of the Brinks. I walked up to the Sergeant at the desk, showed him my MACV ID, and told him that Warrant Office Jim McDermott was expecting me. The Sergeant looked a little surprised. He probably didn’t see too many “non-combatant first Lieutenants.” However, there was no issue. He gave me Jim’s room number and let me go up. I knocked on the door, and was fortunate to find that he was there. “Jim, I need to talk to you in private. It is about Chan.” He opened the door and he invited me in. It was even more fortunate when he told me his roommate was not there. “Peter what have you heard?” “I need your help to find out what happened to Chan. I also need to share some things with you that are highly classified and I need your word that it will remain between us.” I could sense him starting to groan so I quickly added, “Jim this is for your country and for Chan… Please.” “Okay Peter, hit me.” “Well you already know that I am doing what I do at the bequest of the CIA. What you do not know is that Chan was also working undercover for the CIA.” He winced. “Jim…Not to worry. What he was working on had nothing to do with you, or your department, or any project at MACV. Chan was investigating Kim’s family. He found some very incriminating evidence. We believe that some of that evidence may be in his room. We would like your help in retrieving it. Will you do that?” “What exactly am I supposed to retrieve?” I repeated to Jim, exactly word for word what Donna had told me she needed. “What will I say to his roommate as to why I need to search his room?” “You do not need to lie. I assume the roommate will know that you are Chan’s superior officer. You can say he went missing and ask when the roommate last saw him. The roommate may know something that would be helpful. Then you could say that there was something Chan has that he was supposed to give you on Thursday that you need for a project or a meeting or something.”

“When do you want me to do this?” “How about right now? Let’s get it out of the way.” “Would you like to come with me?” “That would be up to you. As a civilian, I may appear to the roommate as out of place, but if you feel more comfortable with me there, I’m okay with that. You can say I work with you as a computer analyst and we need the documents Chan has for an installation. As far as the film is concerned, you could explain that it might identify where he was, and when, before he disappeared. It is your call.” “I want you to come with me.” “Okay, let’s go.” We went to Chan’s room. His roommate whose name was Don let us into the room. Jim introduced me. Don was very cooperative and wanted us to find out what happened to Chan. He said he thought that Chan had been out all night Wednesday but snuck back in after six hundred hours. He understood that Chan was going to clean up and go to work. He said that he simply thought that Chan had an all-nighter with his girlfriend, but knew not to ask too many questions. Jim said that Chan told him on Wednesday that he might be late coming to work on Thursday, so that was consistent. Jim and I found a 10 by 14 inch brown envelope full of documents and two rolls of undeveloped film in Chan’s underwear drawer just as Donna had said. We also found a very expensive Nikon with a telephoto lens attached on the shelf above where his uniforms hung. Jim said that the uniform Chan would wear to work was not there, implying that he may have left for work on Thursday morning as Don had suggested. I wound the film in the Nikon and removed the partially exposed film cartridge. Meanwhile, Jim searched for the miniature Minolta, which he eventually found inside Chan’s shirt drawer. Then Jim asked Don if he wanted to us later for pocket billiards. I was pleased to hear him decline as I was sure that Don would eventually become suspicious and start asking more questions. We went back to Jim’s room where I took sole possession of everything we found. I thanked Jim for his help and told him I would see him later. Back in my room, I hid the folder, the two rolls of film and the Minolta, in my underwear drawer with the intention of reviewing it on Sunday.

That evening, Jim and I ed two others that Jim knew. We drank, played pool, cracked jokes and told stories. We had a good time and got our minds off the perils of war and missing comrades.

13 CHASING THE EVIDENCE—MACV

The next week was my fifth week back. I spent the beginning of the week gathering the hard evidence against the Lieutenant. Per Donna’s request, we met again the evening of Monday August 7. At this meeting, I gave her everything regarding Chan that I had collected, and I pointed out to her that Chan’s documents had established a connection between the Lieutenant and the Pham family. She reminded me that I was not supposed to see that. Chan’s documents indicated that the Viet Cong had their hooks into every aspect of the South Vietnamese economy and government. It made me wonder how this war could ever be won. I could only imagine the incriminating evidence that Chan had on the film. I wanted to believe that Chan had done his job very well. However, Donna was right. I did not have a need to know, and I said no more. “Peter, I want to apologize for my bitchiness on Saturday. I can’t blame it on PMS; that was almost two weeks ago. I thought about what you said…that we do our best, and that is all we can expect of ourselves.” “No need to apologize,” I replied and smiled. I was pleased that Donna seemed to have come to grips with the Chan situation and was more at peace with herself about it. We both knew that the likelihood of ever seeing Chan again was zero and there was no need to talk further about it. We then talked about how to get the evidence that I had on the Lieutenant out of the MACV building on Wednesday. Donna told me she would arrange for me to see Colonel Boehner on Wednesday at 1600 hours (4:00 PM). Colonel Boehner was in charge of security for the entire building and SOG located there. He would have an authorization that would allow me to take anything I wanted out of the building regardless of its classification level. She told me that she would pick me up at 5:00 PM outside the guard gate. I could not help by ask, “What if Boehner does not have such a security ready for me at four PM? Should I try to get the documents out of the building anyway?”

“Definitely not! Not unless you want to be caught and charged with espionage.” “Then what? Is there a backup plan?” “I’m working on it. There will be one if it’s needed. I will let you know if it comes to that. You need to trust me.” “Okay, Donna. You know I trust you.” I figured our business conversation was over, and I was about to remind her of our non-date, when she asked, “Where were you planning to go for dinner afterwards?” “Is La Paix okay?” “Perfect!”

****

It was Wednesday August 9. There had been no further communication with Donna. As instructed, I went to Colonel Boehner’s office at 4:00 PM. I hoped to pick up an envelope that had my name on it and that contained the appropriate security . Colonel Boehner’s office was at the other end of the building. I arrived at 4:05 PM. His gatekeeper was a Sergeant Daley according to his nameplate. “May I help you?” he asked as I approached his desk. “Yes I am here to pick up a security form Colonel Boehner.” “Please show me your ID,” he politely asked. I showed him my MACV ID. Sergeant Daley took a long hard look at it and the said, “Please take a seat Mr. Troutman. I will need your ID for a few minutes, but will return it when I come back.” It was 4:15 when he returned. “Mr. Troutman, Colonel Boehner says that he

needs to talk with you.” I wondered why this would be the case. Would a plan B be required? The Sergeant led me into the Colonel’s office. I could tell from his uniform that he was a Lieutenant Colonel, not a full Colonel. He appeared to be middle aged, but looked lean and tough, leathery skin, the whole thing. The Colonel asked me to take a seat, another indication that this might take a while. “Is there a problem Colonel?” I asked. “You bet there is son. You do not report to me. I do not know who you are. I have been asked by the CIA to grant you an unconditional security . I have no knowledge as to why I should grant this to you, or what information you are trying to take out of here. Your ID indicated you are the equivalent of a Lieutenant, but I see a young scrawny looking civilian with no military experience. Yes, I have a problem.” “It sounds like you were not thoroughly briefed, sir.” “That being the case, why should I cooperate?” “Colonel, perhaps the ‘higher ups’ limited your knowledge in order to protect you. Perhaps it would have been better if the meeting we are having did not even occur. I think there is a term called ‘plausible deniability.’” “Mr. Troutman, I am responsible for security here. I need you to tell me about the documents you want to remove from these premises.” “Colonel, the fact is I am only a courier. I do not know what the documents are, or why the CIA needs them.” Of course I was lying. “Mr. Troutman, I think you know more than you are saying.” “Colonel, I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I just bring you the documents? You can see them for yourself. However, I am expected out of here by seventeen hundred hours, and you really should think about ‘plausible deniability’.” “Mr. Troutman, I am expected to be out of here before seventeen hundred hours. You have less than thirty minutes. Bring me the documents!”

“Okay sir. I will be back.” I did not know how this would play out, but I had no problem showing him the documents. Whether he would understand what they were, I did not know, but if it got me the security , I did not care. If I did not get the security , I would need to rely on Donna’s “plan B” whatever that was. All of the evidence I had accumulated was in the locked file cabinet in my cubicle. It took me about five minutes to transfer the documents into my briefcase, and re-secure my cubicle. It was now 4:45. I had to get back to Colonel Boehner’s office before he left for the day. The plan was that Donna would meet me outside the security gate at 5:00 PM sharp. We would drive to the Continental Palace where we would review the evidence, come up with a plan to recommend to her boss, and then go out to dinner. I had less than fifteen minutes to get that security , get by the guard, and make it to the street. Time was running out! I took my briefcase with the evidence and almost ran back to Colonel Boehner’s office. I went up to Sergeant Daley and told him that the Colonel wanted to see me again. I hoped for the best. “Please show me your ID.” “Sergeant, I was just here.” “Protocol sir.” “Okay here it is. May I see the Colonel now?” “Thank you Mr. Troutman, but the Colonel has left for the day.” Oh crap, I am thinking. I didn’t make it back in time, what now? However, the Sergeant kept talking. “The Colonel told me that if you came back I should give you this envelope.” I opened the envelope and it contained the needed security . I have no idea what happened. Perhaps the Colonel thought about “plausible deniability,” perhaps he had another call from a higher up, or perhaps he just did not want to deal with me anymore. It did not matter. I got what I wanted. I left the building a couple of minutes after five. Lt. Nguyen was still there and noticed my departure. It was starting to rain as I exited the building, a typical storm for that time of year. When I got to the guardhouse, I noticed that the

guard on duty was an ARVN, and not the usual marine. I showed the security that allowed me to take anything out of the building. Since the was allinclusive, I was surprised when the guard still wanted me to open my briefcase to let him see what was inside. He was well armed and I was not about to argue. I open it. He rifled through my stuff, noticing I had several computer printouts, but he let me without further comment. However, I noticed that right afterward he picked up his phone and made a call. As I approached the street, I looked for Donna. As it was raining, I expected her to drive up in her jeep. I looked up and down the street. There was no jeep in sight. My watch said it was now 5:06 PM. Was I too late? I was starting to consider my options when I heard my name called from across the street. “Mr. Peter…Mr. Peter…You Mr. Peter?” I noticed a taxicab with a Vietnamese driver calling me from the opened driver’s window. Most cabs were either Renaults or VW Beetles. This one was a Renault. The rear windows had privacy curtains. I could not see into the cab. My heart began to beat a little faster as I considered the possibility of my kidnapping with highly classified documents in my possession. As I walked slowly toward the cab, I half expected thugs with guns to suddenly appear and force me into the cab. Fortunately, that did not happen. I hopped into the back seat and began to relax. Donna was in the cab on the far side of the rear seat as I got in. I slid over and sat alongside of her. She was wearing her business attire. In this case, that meant slacks and a white blouse. She was also wearing glasses and had a briefcase with her. She looked very business-like. We made small talk. “How was your day?” she asked. “I had a good day, thank you, but I am looking forward to our dinner.” “Yes, I am also. I think the “going home dinner for Charlie” tonight at La Dolce Vita will be just grand.” I figured that this chitchat was clearly a diversion for the sake of the cab driver, so I played along. “What do you think of this present I got for Charlie,” I asked. “I hope he likes it. As I said this, I opened up my briefcase. “Yes, very nice. I think that he will. Sally has not seen it yet. I can take it to her.” Donna opened up her briefcase and I transferred the documents from mine into hers.

Then Donna said, “I have a card for him,” and took a greeting card from her case and handed it to me. “Here take a look.” On the front, it said “Farewell from the gang.” I opened it. Inside I read the following handwritten message:

Although your move upstairs will leave us at six, your work will prove very valuable to us in unit 314.

We wish you farewell Charlie.

Thank you.

“Tell me if you think it is appropriate. Do you like it?” “Yes I do. I think it is very appropriate.” I carefully took notice of the implied message. Of course, Charlie was a name often used to refer to the enemy, and the message was telling me that I should meet in room 314 at six o’clock. I thought the subterfuge to be a bit over the top and not necessary. However, I sensed that Donna was amusing herself with the entire charade we were playing, including my efforts to play along. Absent-mindedly, I was about to put the card into my briefcase when Donna reached out and said, “Let me have it back. I will keep it with the present, and show it to Sally when I see her. Sally and I have a quick errand to do and then we will meet you at six. John has invited us to have cocktails in his suite at six before we go to dinner. Are you okay with that?” I understood her redundant message and responded, “Yes, I will see you there.” Although Donna had never explained to me what was in room 314, I had been curious enough to walk up there one day, and realized that it was more than a dummy mailbox. I had thought it could be a second room for Donna, but her mention of her boss, John, made it clear that it was a room used by the CIA.

I do not think the driver was the wiser about what we were actually doing or saying, because he asked in broken English, “How long you in Saigon. You married?” Donna responded to the driver in Vietnamese. After which I heard a short response from the driver in Vietnamese. I asked her what she said and she said she told him that we were married and had been here with the US Embassy for about a year, and that we were having a going away dinner for one of my co-workers who was promoted and leaving the country. Then she said something else to the driver in Vietnamese. Again, I asked her what she said and why she was speaking in Vietnamese and not English. She said he was not that fluent in English. He may not understand her English. She said she told him to let me out in front of the Continental Palace Hotel, but that he needed him to let her out somewhere else because she needed to meet her friend Sally before the dinner. The driver drove up to the entrance to the Continental Palace. I got out and watched the cab drive off and disappear toward Le Loi. I assumed Donna was going to her apartment. I walked quickly into the Continental Palace. It was still raining. As I walked through the lobby, I noticed a middle-aged Vietnamese man reading a newspaper. I did not think too much of it at the time, but he seemed to take notice as I walked to the elevator. He arose and entered the elevator along with two other people. He carried a small cigar in his left hand. Three of us, including the Vietnamese man, got out on my floor. As I unlocked the door to my room, the Vietnamese man walked slowly past me and on down the hallway and around the corner. The third person entered a room just down the hall. When I got into my room, I put my briefcase on the desk and opened it. My briefcase still contained my tools some blank paper, pencils, and this morning’s paper. I removed the paper and tossed it into the trash bin. About the only thing in the paper was the crossword, but I did not have time for that now. Then I put the briefcase into the corner where I usually kept it and was relieved to set it aside as it was heavy. My room was too warm. I clicked on the window air-conditioner. It was hot and muggy outside and although it had only been about twenty-five minutes since I left work, I was hot and uncomfortable. I ed the message from Donna. There was not a lot of time. I headed into the bathroom. I needed to freshen up.

All prior status meetings with Donna had been in my room. Meeting somewhere else was a first. When I first came to Saigon and she told me her mailbox was number 314, I assumed she stayed at the hotel. After that, I thought she stayed at the Caravelle, but then she told me she had an apartment. Later I learned where that was. Then I wondered if she also stayed in room 314. One evening when I had nothing better to do, I had wandered up the stairs and could see that there really was a room 314. Being curious I knocked on the door, half expecting Donna would answer. No one answered. Now I was about to discover how the room was actually used. It was about five minutes before six when I left my room, locked the door, and walked slowly toward the stairs. Hung, the houseboy for my floor met me along the way and asked, “Where you go for dinner tonight, Mister Peter?” He was a friendly type and we often exchanged pleasantries. He assumed I was on the way out to dinner, as that would have been my usual evening behavior at this time. I told him I had a date and was going somewhere special tonight. “You have good time, Mister Peter.” I knocked on the door of room 314 at precisely 6:00 PM. Donna opened the door. I immediately noticed her appearance. She was no longer the conservative businesswoman I talked with in the taxicab. She had changed into a summery flowered dress. The bottom of the dress came just above the knee. The top of the dress was sleeveless and bared her arms, shoulders, and a vee shaped area that dipped down the front of her chest to a point between and above her breasts. A cross on a chain was centered near the bottom of the vee. She had applied makeup, she no longer looked like a business executive, and she smelled nice. To me she looked very alluring and sexy. “Donna, you look very nice,” I told her. “Thank you” she replied with a smile. I entered the room and looked around. I did not see John. It was also quite clear that hotel guests did not stay in this room. The room had no bed, only a large table, and some chairs. The walls appeared to be covered with soundproof material. The door from which I had just entered had an extra lockset. A door at one end of the room connected to another room, and it also had a special lock on it. So, this was part of a suite. I wondered how this place was used. Was it used as a “safe house?” Did “interrogations” take place here? Was this a CIA substation? I could only guess as to what was in the other room. Donna noticed my

apprehension. “Trust me,” she said. “We are safe here and so are the documents you gave me. No one can hear us.” “What about John, is he coming?” “No he’s not. He said he could trust me to handle it.” The two of us sat down at the large table. Donna pulled the documents out of a large shopping bag and set them on top of the table. Apparently, she had transferred them from her briefcase before bringing them over to the hotel. An interesting deception, I thought. She had left the cab looking like a business executive carrying a briefcase, and she had come to the hotel looking like an embassy employee’s wife that had gone shopping. We met for about forty-five minutes. I gave her the promised documented rundown that I had recited to her at our meeting on Friday. Then I stepped through the list of ing evidence that we had, including a chronology of observations that I had made over the past two weeks. My hard evidence included the following:

• The access logs provided to me by Bob Nunn, tracing Nguyen’s activity over the past month. • The database of access authorizations set up by Lt. Nguyen. • Data change cards that Lt. Nguyen tore up and threw into the trash. • A computer printout of control and change cards from Lt. Nguyen’s trash showing that she had run a program to alter the database before the probability calculations were done. • Printouts of the correct data files for several weeks.

• Printouts of the incorrect data files for the same weeks. • A correct set of probability calculations that I had run in my test environment. For the most recent week, it showed that Event 360 had a probability of fifty-five percent. • An incorrect set of probability calculations for the same weeks that the Captain ran against the altered data files. • My journal showing what I did and what I observed by day. In addition, Donna provided the following:

• The CIA lab technicians had determined that the fingerprints on the threatening note belonged to Lt. Nguyen. • The CIA determined the owner of the VW that picked up the Lieutenant from work, and determined where he lived. Unfortunately, unless they searched his home they could not prove him to be a co-conspirator. Finally, if the Lieutenant was apprehended on Thursday (tomorrow), it might be possible to catch her with stolen documents taped to her back. If a search were done of her office and her home, it was expected that other evidence would be discovered, such as the badge she used to enter the computer room, the data change cards she used to alter the database, and the Captains access codes. After reviewing the evidence and rehashing prior evidence, we agreed that Lieutenant Nguyen should be arrested and held for questioning. We could assume that the Lieutenant was onto us and might be a threat as long as she was allowed to be in the building. Once the Lieutenant was away from the computer room, she would no longer be a threat, either to us or to the computer room. Donna thought that her boss would agree, and that there was enough evidence to convince the National Police to make an arrest, or at least let the CIA detain and question her. According to Donna, the CIA’s objective was not only to stop the

Lieutenant from doing more damage, but also to determine for whom she worked. Donna said that she would be in with her boss regarding tomorrow, and then they would meet with Colonel Abernathy (at the Embassy) Friday morning, and decide what to do next. I made a point of saying that I still needed to run reports from prior weeks to show a trend, and that I would need to instruct the Captain on how to correctly run reports himself in the future. I told Donna that I thought the Captain was clean. I chose to remain silent about what the Captain had told me regarding his prior intimacy with the Lieutenant. Donna instructed me to stay home tomorrow, and wait to hear back from her as to when I could meet with the Captain. I reluctantly agreed. I pulled back the drape covering the window and looked out. It was about 6:45 and already getting dark outside, but I could see that the rain had stopped. “Donna, how do you feel riding your bike to dinner?” We were planning to go to a French restaurant called La Pais that was about a mile away to the North. We could have taken a taxi, but Donna enjoyed her bike and I enjoyed riding on the back of it. She walked over to the window beside me. “I think that is a great idea. I was hoping we could take the bike, and in anticipation, I parked it behind the assembly building next door. However, I think we should take our rain Ponchos just in case the rain starts up again. Before we go, I need to put these documents into the other room and call my boss on the single side band (SSB) radio to tell him everything is go. It will be a few minutes.” “Okay, no problem. I will use the bathroom while I am waiting.” We walked out of room 314 together and went to the stairs. I mentioned to Donna that I would need to stop in my room on the way down to pick up my poncho. She said okay and we both went into my room on the way downstairs. As I entered my room, I noticed that my briefcase was no longer in the corner where I thought I had left it. Perhaps I did not . Donna watched me as I looked all over. It was clearly gone! Nothing else seemed to be disturbed. My confusion was apparent. “Okay, what is the problem?” she asked.

“My briefcase is gone. The only one that had a key other than myself was Hung. I think we should find Hung, and ask him who was in the room and who ended up with my briefcase.” “Yes I agree,” she said, “but try to be a bit more diplomatic and less accusatory about it. There may be other possibilities.” We went to his station; he was not there but I caught a glimpse of him moving down the hallway. We caught up and intercepted his progress. “Oh Mr. Peter, you are back so soon. You have dinner?” “No, we were delayed, but my lady friend and I need your help with something. Please come to my room to see.” The three of us went into my room and Donna shut the door behind us. Hung was clearly nervous. Since Hung was my houseboy, Donna let me take the lead. I pretty much ignored what Donna said about being diplomatic and got right to the point. “Hung, here is my problem. My briefcase is gone and we know that you are the only one besides me that has a key to my room. My key is right here.” I pulled my key from my pocket and waved it in front of his face. “I want to know who has my briefcase.” “Mr. Peter I no tell.” “Hung, I will give you two choices. You can tell me everything you know, and if you do, I will give you three thousand dong and we would still be friends. Your other choice is to remain silent. If you do that, I will report you, accuse you of theft, and you will lose your job and all the tips that go with it.” As I was saying this, I could see Donna cringing, but I knew that Hung was motivated by money, friendship, and authority, probably in that order. Fortunately, Hung made the right choice. “Okay Mr. Peter, I tell you. A man come to my station and said he wants to borrow key for ten minutes. I stay at my station and not see what he did. I not know he take your briefcase.” “Hung, how much money did he pay you for that?”

“No money”. “Hung, if he paid you no money then why did you give him the key?” “I sorry Mr. Peter. He say he police. The man show me badge.” After that, Hung gave me a description of the man. It sounded similar to the man that followed me up the elevator and past my room a little over an hour ago. I ed that the man I saw smoked, so I asked, “Hung, did this man smoke?” “Yes” he smoke big cigarette.” I thanked Hung for his help, gave him the promised currency, and we let him go back to his station. Then Donna and I reflected upon and discussed the implications of this new development. First I started, “Does this mean that there may be a link between Nguyen and the police? Could they be working together?” I guess I was stating the obvious, because Donna all but ignored that question, and then asked, “Was the briefcase locked?” “Yes.” “Was there anything in the briefcase that could be useful to the thief?” I thought for a moment before I ed. “Unfortunately, yes. I left an entry badge in there - the one that allows access to the basement where the computers are.” Then, I ed something else. “When we left MACV the guard took extra notice of the contents of my briefcase, and then appeared to make a phone call as I entered the taxi. The guard could be in on it.” We both looked at each other and simultaneously realized the possibility of someone being able to enter the building and the computer area, and then setting off a bomb. “No, wait,” I said. “Isn’t it more likely they were going after the documents, and may not even be aware of the badge until after they open up the case? And besides, won’t Nguyen be interrogated before they would have enough time to plan an attack using someone other than Nguyen?” “Maybe,” Donna responded, “but what happens when they open the case and find no documents? Will they then come back here to look for them, or to try to get you to tell what you did with them?”

“I hope not, and I don’t think so,” I responded, “I think they will realize that the CIA already has them. In any case, they must already know that we are onto them and will need to detain Lieutenant Nguyen. Perhaps they will try to prevent that.” “Well I don’t know Peter, but one thing is for sure - I have to report this new development to my boss. I need to go back upstairs and use the secure SSB radio phone again.” “Okay, I will wait for you in the lobby.” She was about to leave the room, when she turned toward me with an inquisitive look. “Peter you just gave Hung three thousand dong. Do you still have enough for dinner?” “Oh, damn! I guess I was not thinking was I?” Donna suppressed a giggle, as she continued to look at me. It was humorous, and we both laughed. “You can relax, I have it covered. Uncle Sam should pay for this. I have access to piastre (money) upstairs in our safe. It is intended for times like this. I will meet you in the lobby.” I grabbed my poncho, and Donna and I left my room. I locked the door behind me.

14 A NON-DATE

I waited in the lobby while Donna went upstairs to talk with her boss about the implications of my stolen briefcase. She returned ten minutes later. My watch said it was already 7:20 and our reservation was for 7:30. We would definitely be late. Donna had parked her bike next to the National Assembly building, not far from the hotel entrance. “How did it go with your boss?” I asked as we walked. “He thanked me for the update, told me not to worry, and said I should enjoy my evening.” Before we got onto her bike, Donna turned to me and handed me a fat envelope. “Peter, put this into your pocket.” I did so without opening it. I assumed it was reimbursement for the money I had given Hung. Then she added, “I want to apologize for putting you at risk.” She seemed genuinely concerned. “Not a problem.” “I also want you to know I thought you did a masterful job of handling the situation with Hung. It was not as diplomatic as it could have been, but it was effective.” “Forget it. If okay with you, I would like us to put it aside for now and enjoy a nice dinner and each other’s company – no more business talk for the remainder of the evening. Besides, I am getting hungry.” “Not a problem, just don’t get grouchy.” We unchained her bike, removed the rain cover, and secured them to the luggage rack. La Paix was located in the Da Kao section of the city. We sped off on her

bike up Hai Ba Trung and then North on Bai Lo Thong Nhat toward La Paix on Dinh Tien Hoang. The streets got darker as we left the downtown area, and it was starting to drizzle again, not what I had hoped for. Fortunately, the restaurant was no more than a mile away, so we did not get very wet. I had never been to this restaurant, but knew of it from the time that Bob, the IBM rep, took me out on the town to a restaurant and nightclub just down the road. The French name for the restaurant was La Paix. To the Vietnamese, it was Hoa Binh. Either way it meant “peace.” Our reservation was for 7:30 and we arrived about 15 minutes late, but the maître de was very nice about it. After exchanging bonjours we were shown to our table and were seated right away. The dining room was small with only a few patrons. That was good because we could talk, without shouting at each other. The tables were covered with white linen tablecloths. The walls had prints of Monets, or were they Manets. I never know, but they made for a pleasant atmosphere. As we sat down, I ordered us each a glass of Beaujolais. We toasted to what we thought would be the completion of a successful mission and started to relax. The menu was in French and Vietnamese. We each knew some French and Donna knew some Vietnamese, but we ended up keeping it simple. We shared the hors de oeuvre de jour. It consisted of breads, cheeses, pates, and something else. It went well with the wine. For the main course, Donna ordered coc au vin. According to the menu, it came with pomme de terre sautéed avec buerre, et petis pois. I think that meant chicken cooked in wine with boiled potatoes sautéed in butter and small peas. For myself, I ordered the boeuf bourguignon, or beef burgundy. The beef burgundy included mushrooms, onions, bacon, and carrots. It was served in the center of a large plate and surrounded by boiled potatoes. Parsley was sprinkled on top. They say presentation is everything, but this was the most delicious meal I had the entire time I was in Saigon. The portions for both of our meals were more than generous. Of course, we each had a second glass of wine with the main dish. I think we shared an éclair for dessert. The sharing was almost a necessity because after the meal we were “stuffed.”

****

[It was the Thursday evening before meeting with Brandy Evans that I recounted this part of my Saigon experience to my wife Carol. She wanted to know how I could what I had for dinner more than 36 years ago. I tried to tell her it was because the meal made such a memorable impression, and because I was blessed with an excellent memory. This was true, but she did not buy it. Then I told her that before we left La Paix that evening we asked for and were both given copies of the menu to take with us. Years later, when I was a “bachelor” living in Rockville, I even tried to duplicate that beef burgundy. My culinary ability was not up to the task. It fell far short of the mark. However, I still have a copy of that menu to this day.]

****

Our dinner conversation at La Paix was not only about the food and the view out the window (raining again), but we also talked about John and Linda, Donna’s experience with men and dating, about trust, religion, her family, my family, etc. “Donna, last week you told me that Linda and John had split, and she had gone back to the States. What happened? “Well, it seems that John had an eye for other women. One day, she found him in his office with the house cleaner. He denied anything was going on, but she says she knew otherwise. Although he told her the encounter was meaningless, and that he loved her, she just could not handle it anymore.” “At your birthday party, John told me the same thing he told Linda and I believed him. I believe he still loves her. However, if he was doing it right under her nose that was too much, I think. I don’t blame her for leaving. Do you think they will get back together?” “I do not know. I try to keep in touch, but John is still my boss. The truth is, I really can’t blame him all that much either. I would never get involved with him for various reasons, but I can understand his situation somewhat, and I have not lost respect for him.”

I asked Donna about her family growing up. “My father was born in Italy, came here in the nineteen twenties, and became a naturalized citizen. He enlisted in the Army Corps of Engineers and was a veteran of World War II. He was hard working and operated a construction company.” I did not say anything, but I was quite sure after Donna spoke of her father, that Donna’s last name was not Rice. She continued, “My mother worked at the medical facility in Bethesda Maryland, and Bethesda was where they had met and married before he ed the war effort.” “Did you go to high school in Bethesda?” “Yes,” she told me, “but it was a Catholic high school. My mother and father were both very Catholic.” “Did you date when you were in high school?” I wanted to know. “My father was leery of boys, and when I finally had a steady boyfriend, my mother was always afraid that I might be sinning. She made me go to confession once per month. Meanwhile my parents gave unlimited freedom to my younger brother Brian. Unfortunately, Brian was killed in a car crash about seven years ago, his senior year in public high school.” “That sounds terrible, Donna. I am sorry.” “I still think of him, and sometimes I wonder if I had been given the same freedoms, could it have been me. After that, my mom was not the same, and I do not think my mom and dad were intimate any more. I think that maybe my mom blamed him. I think my dad may have a girlfriend on the side, but if true, he keeps it quiet. I cannot blame him; I think he deserves more from mom.” Then she quickly looked up at me and put on her cheery face. “Peter you probably don’t want to hear all of this. Tell me about your family.” “Actually, I grew up in Hyattsville Maryland, not very far from Bethesda. In fact, my father worked in Bethesda for a while. He was an office manager for a trade association. When I was fifteen my family moved to Massachusetts, but left me behind living with a friend, so I could finish the school year. My two brothers and I were always given a lot of freedom, but this was the most I had ever had. That was when I started dating and had a regular girlfriend. To be honest, I had no idea what I was doing, sexually or otherwise. The otherwise

included a night drinking beer with friends of my friend, and riding around in a souped up car doing mischief. The good news is that I survived, stayed out of jail, and learned a lot.” “Have you done anything wild while in Saigon?” “Nothing I would call wild,” I told her, “but I did spend some time with the Captain and with Bob, the IBM rep. Neither was particularly wild though. The Captain took me bowling one weekend, apparently to the only bowling alley in Saigon. It was up near the Tao Dan Park where we went. He said he missed doing that. You know about the USO show that we attended, and the Captain and I often had lunch and sometimes dinner together. A couple of times he invited me over to the Rex to listen to bands that played there. Rather normal activities I would say. Now Bob on the other hand is something else. Bob lives the stereotypical bachelor life. It was the Friday night before your birthday party. He and I went to La Cigale just down the road from here, and then to another club in town. We met two local Vietnamese women. I think he knew the one, but she had brought a friend. They offered to spend the night with us and make us very happy. Apparently, the friend would have spent the night with me for less than what it would cost to buy an umbrella on a rainy day in Saigon. That was about two thousand dong, expensive for an umbrella, but cheap for a prostitute.” “And did you?” she wanted to know. “Absolutely not! I was not interested. I know Bob would have though, if he had not been with me. However, I did hear him tell his friend that he would see her the next night. Bob is somewhat of a womanizer, but I give him credit for being understanding of my wishes. He did not abandon me.” “Peter, after you got the information from Chan’s room this past Saturday, didn’t you go out with the guys? You never told me about what you did.” “Oh, yes, that’s right. We went over to the USO and played pool and ping-pong. Of course there was only three of us and not four as originally planned so we had to turns at ping-pong, and we played a lot of eight ball. Jim is a really good pool player. He went through an entire rack before I even got my turn. By the way, the two of you have something in common.”

“What is that?” “You are both left handed.” As I looked across the table at her, I noticed she seemed far away. “Donna…you okay?” “I’m sorry. I was thinking of Chan.” “You know, if you want to talk about it, I’m willing to listen.” “Actually, I did talk to John. He told me it was not my fault and gave me an analogy to an officer in charge of troops in battle. He said that the office is required to make a judgement and give battle orders that the men are required to carry out. Invariably some of those men will lose their lives. The officer is doing his job; he can’t blame himself. In my case, Chan did what he did at his own discretion. However, it still saddens me…Peter, I do appreciate your offer, but I’m dealing with it. I’ll be fine.” “Well, the offer still stands if you should change your mind… okay?” “Okay.” “So, I just told you about my wild date with Bob. What about you…have you had any wild dates lately?” “No. I really don’t go out much.” “Why not?” “I think my jobs have a lot to do with it. Both of my jobs have kept me very busy, and I am not really into the club scene. Aside from the fiasco I told you about two weeks ago, I have had only two dates in the past year, both of which were disappointing to me. I think I already told you about my bad experience at the REX. Most of the military men here seem to be looking for only one thing. They buy you dinner and they expect sex in return. Peter, I hope you are not going to be like that tonight.” “Don’t worry Donna. I don’t expect anything, and besides,” I jokingly reminded her, “you’re Catholic, and I’m married.”

“Do you think that’s enough of an excuse?” she quipped. Perhaps Donna was hinting that she wished things were different. I began to wonder if I secretly wished the same. I had tried very hard to keep my relationship with Donna much the same as my relationship with the Captain. Both had some authority over me, but both allowed me to speak freely and actually listened to what I had to say. I had gotten to know both the Captain and Donna as colleagues and we certainly enjoyed working together. With respect to Donna, however, I also enjoyed the “xe om” tours of Saigon that she had given me on her bike. After that first ride, we sometimes joked about my holding on while riding on the back of her bike, but that relationship was more like a tour guide and tourist. It was no different than if she had been a six-foot tall man. (Well, almost no difference). We had become friends and, except for that situation at John and Linda’s dinner party in March, there had never been anything sexual going on between us, or at least it was not apparent. However, tonight, I felt that Donna and I were getting to know each other on a more personal level than we had in the past. Perhaps it was the wine, or the romantic setting. In retrospect, I think this dinner and what happened later was a turning point in our relationship. I paid the bill; it was less than four thousand dong, including a tip, or between thirty and forty US dollars, depending on which rate of exchange you assumed. We waited for the rain to stop and left La Paix at about 9:45 PM. As we stepped outside, we realized that it was still drizzling but the temperature had cooled down significantly. We put on our ponchos and set off to retrace our route back to the National Assembly Building. The roads were wet, and pools of water remained in some places. Before we got back to Hai Ba Trung, we came to a cross street. I cannot its name. We were probably moving at about 25 miles per hour along Thong Nhat. As we approached the intersection, a car ed us and then made a sharp right turn ing in front of us and cutting us off. Donna reacted quickly but instinctively by putting on the brakes and veering to her right. The rear of the car just missed clipping us as it sped off down the road to the right. Unfortunately, Donna’s reaction combined with the wet roadway set the bike into a slide. The bike went sideways and horizontal to the ground all at once with the rear of the bike shooting out faster than the front. I reacted by pushing my hands down on the

seat and extracting my right leg from under the bike before it hit the pavement. I then went into a slide on the pavement much like sliding into home plate. I could feel a burn on my leg as I slid and finally came to a sitting position on the pavement. I sat dazed for a moment, but then looked over to Donna. She was also separated from the bike, but she was on her right side with her arm underneath of her. I was able to stumble over to Donna without feeling too much pain. I put my right hand on her left shoulder. “Donna, are you okay? Say something.” “I think I hurt my wrist.” “Can you sit up?” I helped her to sit up as I looked into her face. She was clearly in pain. “Can you tell me if you are hurting anywhere else?” She put her head on my shoulder as she said, “I don’t think so.” “Let me see your wrist.” It was dark, but I wanted to get an idea how bad it was. She put her right hand across her lap and I gently put my hand around her wrist. “Try to move your hand.” She tried. “It hurts,” she whimpered. “I don’t feel that your bone is out of place. I hope that it is only a bad sprain, but we need more light. Give yourself a moment and then see if you can get to your feet.” She held on to me and pulled herself up. As she did so, she commented that she might have banged up her right leg a bit too. “Can you walk?” “Yes, I think my leg is just scraped.” Meanwhile, another biker had stopped. His rider jumped off, and was uprighting Donna’s bike. He asked if we were hurt. Donna spoke first and with conviction. “Thank you but I think we will be fine.” I limped over to check out the bike. It did not seem to be too badly damaged. The light was dim, but I could see that the air deflector shroud was cracked, and the right side of the seat was abraded and torn. By this time, Donna had made it

over to the bike as well. I think we were both suspicious of our “good Samaritans.” Were they “cowboys” intent on taking advantage of the situation? “We are good. Thanks for stopping,” I said as strongly as I could muster. Our demeanor and towering presence may have been enough. Our “Samaritan” returned to his bike and comrade. “Peter, I do not think I can operate the throttle with this wrist.” “Not a problem, it is my turn to drive, if you can hold on with your left hand.” I got onto the bike and kicked the starter. Fortunately, it started right up. As I tried to place my right foot onto the footrest, I realized that the footrest was broken as well. Donna got on behind me, while the other two bikers watched. Then seeing that we were all right, they sped off up the street to our right. We moved very slowly, but I got us the remaining four blocks with no issues. As I approached the rear of the National Assembly Building, I felt a tug on my left side. “Peter, please take us to my place. You where it is don’t you?” “Yes of course.” I continued past my hotel, went up Le Loi, turned right onto Nguyen Hue, and entered a small parking area near the door of her building. Then I heard, “Peter, bring the bike right up to the door. We can bring it inside.” I shut down the engine and we dismounted right outside the door. In the dim light from an overhead lamp, I noticed that in addition to her wrist, she had really messed up her dress and possibly her leg. I felt concerned and wanted to be sure that she would be okay. I put my arm on her left shoulder. “Donna please let me see you to your apartment. We can take a better look at your wrist and get some ice for it.” “Okay, I would like that.” At Donna’s request, I brought the bike inside the door and secured it in a vestibule area inside the doorway apparently intended for that purpose. Two other bikes were already there. “Is there an elevator?” “It’s down the hall but not working.”

We had no choice. We walked (limped might be a better description) up two flights of stairs and entered the living room of her apartment. The apartment was small, but it had a kitchen, a living room, a bedroom, and a bathroom. I went to get some ice from her refrigerator’s freezer as she made it to the bathroom. As I made my way through the living room toward the kitchen, I could not help but notice an exercise mat and dumb-bells in one corner of the room. She obviously kept herself fit. When I returned to the bathroom with the ice, I found her sitting on the edge of the tub with her right leg in the tub and her left leg out. Her muddied dress was pulled up above her knee and she was struggling to clean the debris from her right leg with her left arm. Her injured right wrist was across her lap. I set the ice tray in the sink and tried to help with her leg. As I used the washcloth and the hand spray, she rested her left hand on my shoulder. I touched her leg just above the knee while noticing her muddied dress. “I am sorry about your dress. You really looked pretty tonight.” “Peter, you are not going to get fresh with me are you?” “I am trying my best not to.” She chuckled a little. “But you may want to take a look at your leg if you have not already done so. Please let me have a look at your wrist.” I could see it was swelling and beginning to turn bluish. I dampened a washcloth with cold water and wrapped it around her wrist. I then put some ice in a hand towel and suggested she hold it against the washcloth, which she did willingly. “Donna, I would like to suggest that you visit a medical center in the morning.” “I hate hospitals,” she replied. “Well, I am with you on that, but they can that your wrist is not fractured. They can demobilize the wrist so that you won’t injure it further every time you move, and they can do something about the pain. Please, do that” I insisted. “Alright, I will. I really made a mess of our evening didn’t I?” “It’s okay Donna, not your fault.” At this point, she started to cry. I gently put my hand on the side of her face and looked into her eyes. “Your wrist hurts doesn’t it?”

“Yes”. “Is that why you are crying?” “No”. “Why are you crying?” She put her head on my shoulder and pulled closer before answering. “Because I like you. I wish you were not married.” I should have known that this could be coming but somehow it surprised me. I was not sure what to say, but responded, “I like you too,” which I suddenly began to realize was actually true, in more ways than I had originally thought. “Donna, I need to go, but I want you to promise me that I will hear from you before tomorrow night. I want to know how you are, but I also need to know what is expected of me on Friday. In the meantime, I will be around if you need me or want to talk.” As she started to pull away, I pulled her back and kissed her on the forehead, before standing up and letting myself out. I limped over to the Continental Palace and made it back to my room by 11:30 PM. I later learned that curfew was 11:00 PM, not midnight as I had thought. Fortunately, no one stopped me. I used the bathroom, cleaned up, took two aspirins, and undressed for bed. As I removed my pants from my burning leg, I could see that the entire upper part of my thigh was reddened and bruised. I could not help but wonder what Donna’s upper thigh looked like. Images of the accident scene raced through my head. I realized how lucky we were that the roads were wet and we were wearing our plastic ponchos as we slid. Our injuries could have been much worse otherwise. With those thoughts in mind, I fell into a sound sleep.

15 ASSASSINATION

When I woke up the next morning, my first thought was that I had overslept and I would be late for work. Then I ed that I had been advised to stay home. I slipped out of bed, and as I got to my feet, I could feel the pain in my right leg, another reminder of what had transpired the night before. I looked at the clock; it was 8:00 AM. I showered, brushed my teeth, and began to think about what I would do all day. I wondered what Donna would be doing and what the Captain would be thinking when I did not show up at work. What the hell, I told myself, I should just relax. I went downstairs, got some fruit, and decided to take a short walk. The sun was out and the temperature was still below 80 degrees F. I ed that I was running low on dong, so I went to the bank and replenished my stash. Although I knew I might be leaving the country in a week, I was not concerned about being stuck with dong. The embassy had assured me that they would give me the opportunity to change everything back to dollars before leaving the country. My leg was still bruised, but it felt less stiff after I walked. I returned to my room. I put the excess dong that would not fit into my wallet into a secret hiding place in my room. Later, I went over to the Givral for a late lunch. As I arrived and seated myself, I noticed that Han was catering to two men at another table. When Han noticed me, she came over and said hello to me in English. Her English had improved considerably since I first met her. I could not help but engage her in conversation. “Han I notice that your English has improved considerably” “Yes,” she said. “Donna has been helping me to learn. By the way, do you know where Donna is today? She promise she would stop by but I have not seen her.” I considered answering her directly. I would have told Han about our misfortune the night before, and explained why Donna had not kept her promise to stop by. However, I took another look at the two men she was talking with at the other table. I sensed that they were glancing over at us and showing some unexplained interest. One of them fit the description of the man I saw in the Hotel yesterday evening. He was middle-aged, Vietnamese, and smoked a small cigar. Was he

the same person that asked Hung for the key? He seemed to show a particular interest. After looking in our direction, he had turned to the other man and said something. Then the other man had turned to have a gander and reported back to him. Had they asked Han to get information from me? “Han I have not heard from Donna today, and I have no idea where she is.” Then I asked her a question. “Han, I am curious, who are those two men at the other table? They look familiar to me.” “Phạm Xuân Ẩn is a reporter for Time,” she responded. “You have probably seen him at your hotel because Time has an office over there.” [Long after the war was over, we all learned that he was a top spy for North Vietnam.] “The other gentleman is a National Police Inspector. The two of them come here often.” “Han, do you know the Inspectors name?” What I heard was “Yes, he is Inspector Dran.” Needless to say, this information raised alarms in my mind, but I did not know what to do about it. Although I was suspicious, I could not be sure that the police inspector at the other table was the same man that took my briefcase. I decided that at least I could get a warning to Donna as to the possibilities about what I saw. I thought about walking to Donna’s apartment, but decided the better of it. The inspector had noticed me. Suppose he was the one that took my briefcase and wanted to follow me to see who my was. Instead, I decided to write a note. After finishing lunch, I went back to the hotel, wrote a note, and put it into Donna’s mail slot at the Continental Palace.

Donna, I had lunch at Givral…Saw a middle-aged Vietnamese Police Inspector having lunch with a Time Magazine reporter. The police Inspector smoked a cigar, and seemed to fit description of man I saw in corridor yesterday before I came to third floor. He may be same man that stole my briefcase. Han pronounced his name as Dran. (??) Peter

I knew it was weak, but it was all I had. Unfortunately, other than the cigar, I could not think of any particularly distinguishing features that the man exhibited. However, Han pronounced his name as “Dran.” Perhaps the name could be traced. Then, I returned to my room. I finished reading “The Quiet American,” and fell asleep. Around 6:00 PM, I started getting hungry and went down to the lobby. I was not sure where I was going to eat. As I ed the desk, I heard my name. “Mr. Troutman, there is a message here for you.” The attendant removed an envelope from my mail slot and handed it to me. It was a note from Donna.

Nguyen is out of the way…OK to talk with the Captain…Possible stress fracture…Bad sprain…Wearing a light cast to limit motion…Bike in the shop… P.S. Got your note.

With that, I decided I would walk over to the Rex for supper. Perhaps I would see the Captain. I waited in the buffet line, got my meal, and started looking for a table. As I did so, I spotted the Captain sitting alone on the far side of the room. He motioned to me to come over. “Captain, may I you?” “Have a seat. You are limping. What happened to you?” “Donna and I had a spill on her bike last night. I have a bruised and scraped-up leg…nothing serious. Donna got scraped-up, but also has a badly sprained wrist.” Changing the subject, I asked him, “How did things go at work today?” “Lieutenant Nguyen was not at work this afternoon. She went out at lunch, but never made it back. I got a call from Donna around thirteen thirty hours asking if I knew where she might be. I thought that was strange. Do you know anything about that?” My face revealed surprise. “Peter, you seem surprised.” “Yes, I am. The plan was for the police to follow Nguyen after she left work at

lunch and then have her arrested by The National Police. After she was in custody, they were supposed to notify the CIA. The CIA wanted to interrogate her to discover who she was working with. Donna knew the plan, so I do not know why she would have called you to find out where Nguyen was, unless something went awry.” “I am really in the dark here. I knew you were becoming suspicious of Nguyen, but I did not know you were about to arrest her. What did she do?” “Captain, I have been given the green light to give you a briefing tomorrow at our status meeting. I am prepared to detail everything I discovered and ed on to Donna.” “Peter, I have a meeting with Colonel Abernathy first thing in the morning. I do not know what to expect. I would like some input now if you can provide it.” “Well, let me try to summarize then. I can give you more detail tomorrow. Every week, Nguyen stole your reports that described the PEN network and the events contained in that network. I am talking about the Event Description Files that she was not authorized to have. As you know, these events included actions planned by the National Liberation Front (NLF) and the North Vietnamese Army (NVA). They also included counteractions planned by the Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN) and the United States (US). She also stole the reports that portrayed the true likelihood of those events occurring, reports that she kept hidden from you. She ed these documents on to the NLF leadership. Nguyen then manipulated the data to make it look like the NLF/NVA actions had a lower likelihood of occurring, thereby lowering the perceived need for you and your associates to plan counteractions by the ARVN/US.” “Peter, what if Nguyen reveals her relationship with me or even directly tries to implicate me? If she were to implicate me, even falsely, it could really screw up my career. Once again, I swear I had no knowledge that she was an agent for the NLF. I also have no recollection of how she may have used me. I never gave her information that she was not supposed to have.” “Captain, I do need to ask you this. Although it would have been unintentional on your part, is it possible that you may have revealed to Nguyen that Donna worked for the CIA?” (I was still pondering the question that the Captain asked as to why Donna had called him earlier.)

“Jeez, Peter, I do not know when or how. I am beginning to feel foolish like I have been played, but I cannot for the life of me explain what Nguyen may have gotten from me.” “Well Nguyen may have initiated a relationship with you simply as a way to keep you from being suspicious of her. Try not to beat yourself up over this Captain.” “You said you would not say anything to Donna about me and Dee.” “I kept my word. I cannot speak for the CIA, but if you were under suspicion, I do not think Donna would have given me the green light to talk with you.” “I hope you are right. You and I should talk more after I return from my meeting with the Colonel.”

****

The next morning, I was up early. On the way to the café across the street, I picked up a newspaper. I could not believe what I read.

VIETNAMESE WAFC LIEUTENANT NGUYEN CHI SHOT IN THE HEAD

There was a picture of the body. It was Lieutenant Nguyen. The article went on to suggest that the CIA had done this. My blood ran cold. Donna’s note had said, “Nguyen is out of the way.” Could Donna have done this? After all, she was a certified sharpshooter. No way, she would never have done that, I thought! Could the Captain have done this? He had a lot to lose if he was a coconspirator. Besides, Donna had told me it was okay to talk with him. No! No! I could not believe either of them could have done this.

I no longer felt hungry and I decided to skip breakfast. I walked to work that morning and went to Danny’s desk. “Danny I need to see the Captain as soon as he gets into work. He is expecting me to meet with him. In the meantime, I will be in my cubicle. Would you mind calling me to let me know when he arrives?” “Yes of course, not a problem.” I started to head for my cubicle when I ed that my badge to the downstairs had been stolen. I went back to Danny’s desk. “Danny, I just realized I have forgotten my badge this morning. Can you give me a temporary one to use?” “Okay, but I need for you to sign something first.” I signed the appropriate form, headed for my cubicle, and waited for Danny to call me when the Captain arrived. Danny called me around 10:00 AM. I climbed the stairs, thanked Danny, went into the Captain’s office, and shut the door. The Captain was sitting at his desk sipping on a cup of coffee. “Did you see the morning paper?” I asked. “Yes,” he responded. “Do you think the CIA did this?” “I hope not. They wanted to interrogate her. It would not have made sense for them to do it. I was instructed to give you all the details of the evidence that was found against Nguyen, and then to instruct you on how to run correct reports yourself in the future. I will be here today and the early part of next week. I will ask Jim to re-copy all of the data files with the correct data. I will then run PEN reports for all weeks with the corrected data, including probability trend reports for the target events.” I then proceeded to give the Captain the documented and detailed version of the case against Nguyen, the same report I had given to Donna the prior Friday and on Wednesday. I also gave him the list of evidence I had given to Donna on Wednesday. I even told him about the stolen briefcase. “Captain, I am sorry it worked out this way; I know you and Dee were close. Are we good?” “We are, Peter. You did what you had to do and you did it well. I appreciate your protecting me and my team.”

****

That evening I treated myself to a dinner at La Dolce Vita, below the Continental Palace. It was excellent. I took a short walk afterwards and was back in my room by nine. I had finished writing postcards to various family and was preparing for bed. I had changed into a tee shirt and black pajama bottoms, and had just brushed my teeth, when there was a knock at the door. It was late; my watch said 9:45 PM. I walked to the door and asked, “Who is it?” “Peter…It’s Donna…May I come in. I need someone to talk to.” Her voice was unsteady and she seemed upset. I made a quick check of myself and decided that I was adequately clothed before opening the door. Standing in the dimly lit hallway, she looked gorgeous, but something seemed off. She was wearing a flowing knee length dress with a halter-top, which bared her arms and shoulders. She seemed to have on makeup. She was carrying a shoulder bag. As usual, the strap was on her right shoulder and the bag hung along her left side. However, this bag was much larger than normal. The lower part of her right arm was in a brace. The image was incongruous and she seemed agitated. “Of course, come in,” I said. Donna entered the room and I closed and locked the door behind her. “Here, let me take your bag. It looks heavy.” I helped her remove the bag from around her neck, and set it against the wall next to the armoire. Then, I turned toward her and put my hands on her shoulders as we stood near the door. I could see that her mascara had run, a sign that she had been crying. “Donna, you are upset. What is wrong?” I could not help but wonder if she had had another disappointing date. She looked directly at me. “Peter, I killed someone,” she said in a very matter of fact way. “I am having trouble dealing with it.” Her words rattled me, but I regained my composure and spoke. “Uh…Please… Come sit over here on the sofa.” I escorted her slowly toward the sofa. Donna perched herself on the front edge of

the cushion, with her body bent forward. I knelt down in front of her and brushed my hands lightly across the sides of her face. “Donna, tell me what happened. Did you kill Lieutenant Nguyen?” She looked at me with some surprise. “No!” she said emphatically. “Then who did you kill?” I asked. “I killed Inspector Trang of the National Police!” For a moment, I was speechless. All I could muster was “Wow!” I needed time for it to sink in. “Donna before you tell me what happened, let me pour us a brandy. It will help you relax.” I did not say it, but I think I needed a brandy as much as she did. I got up and went to the top shelf of the armoire where I kept my brandy and plastic cups. I poured two brandies, and set the cups on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Then I planted myself on the floor in front of Donna with my back resting against the side of the table. “Please, tell me what happened.” Donna then began to recount the details of the events that ended with her killing Inspector Trang of the National Police: “My boss had a close working relationship with a commissioner at the National Police headquarters in Saigon and they had arranged to tail Nguyen when she left the Pasteur building at noon yesterday. They were supposed to call us after the arrest was made. However, they never called us, so I called the Captain to find out what I could, and my boss called his at the National Police. The Captain said that Nguyen went out for lunch but had not returned. The Commissioner told my boss he had not received any yet, but would let us know when he did. A short time later, the Commissioner called my boss back and told him that there had been a problem. He gave us an address in Cholon with instructions to go there. When my boss and I arrived, there were police vehicles and police officers everywhere. The police were asking questions and interviewing people. My boss showed credentials and we were itted into the home. I saw the body. Nguyen had a bullet to the forehead. She was definitely executed.” Donna paused to sip her brandy.

“The police on the scene said that they had followed a black VW to the location, and that both the driver and Nguyen had entered the home. When the police went in, they found Nguyen dead, and the driver had disappeared. The police impounded the VW, the same VW you had described, but we were not able to determine the owner. I spent the rest of the day with my boss talking with people and doing our own investigation. No one saw anything. Then this morning I got a call from my boss saying that an Inspector Trang had a lead. We both went to the police headquarters and talked to him. Trang was a plain-clothes police inspector. According to Trang, they thought they had discovered who the driver of the VW was. He was either a suspect or a witness, but had yet to be located. Later in the day, I got a call from Trang. He said he discovered where the suspect lived and I could tag along with him when he went to question him. He said that my boss had agreed. According to Trang, the person of interest would not be home until 6:00 PM, so he would pick me up around 5:30 in front of the square. Trang picked me up as planned and we then drove to a home in Cholon. Trang smoked a small cigar in the car on the way, something I found annoying. When we arrived, he squashed the butt into the ashtray in front of me and we got out. We walked up a flight of stairs and knocked. No answer, but we could hear someone inside. Trang broke open the door and we entered. As we entered a room in the rear, a young Vietnamese man aimed a gun at us and shouted something in Vietnamese. He got off a shot that missed us. Before he could fire a second shot, Trang fired back, hitting him in the stomach. The man fell backward into a sitting position and looked like he was going to fire again, but Trang shot him again, this time in the head. He fell back dead onto his back. His gun hit the floor and dislodged from his right hand. Trang walked over to him, holstering his own gun as he did so. Trang reached the body, and was about to bend over and retrieve the man’s revolver when everything suddenly clicked in my head.” Donna had another sip of her brandy before she continued. “I do not know if these were conscious thoughts or just instincts, but they all weighed on my judgement. Picking up a gun and disturbing a crime scene was not proper protocol… I originally thought that what I heard the man shout in Vietnamese was ‘I want to kill you’. I now realized that what he actually said was ‘you want to kill me’… The scent of the small cigar was similar to a faint scent in your room on Wednesday evening; Hung had mentioned the police officer he saw smoked a ‘big cigarette’… I ed your note. ‘Trang’ could

be heard as ‘Dran’… It was unlike my boss to have agreed to my going with him without notifying me… I thought it unusual that a national police inspector would not have another police officer with him on a mission like this… How did Trang know where to pick me up?” She sipped more brandy. “I had my small shoulder bag with me, not the large one over there; I quickly and quietly removed my Colt forty-five, and took off the safety. Yes Peter, I told you I sometimes carry a gun. Before leaving, I debated whether to bring it. I am glad I did. I had preloaded it before I left home, and the hammer was already back and ready to fire. I do not think Trang knew I had it, and he probably did not think I could fire a gun anyway given his earlier comment about my wrist. I am glad I’m left handed. Meanwhile Trang picked up the revolver from the floor. Then he quickly turned toward me and pointed the gun right at me. We both fired almost at the same time, but mine was a split second sooner. His shot missed, but not by much. My shot hit him in the head. He fell back. The gun fell from his hand as his head landed on top of the unidentified man already on the floor. I went over to him and watched him die. His eyes had a look of surprise.” Then loudly and with agitation in her voice, she says, “Peter, I can’t get that image out of my head!” I reached for her again and looked into her eyes. I spoke as calmly as I could. “Donna, easy, it’s going to be okay. Talking about it is the best thing you can do.” “Peter, I have never killed anyone before. I know it was self-defense, but I still took a human life, and it makes me feel bad. And, the other two…, Why did they have to die?” She poured herself more brandy and took another sip as I began to speak. “Donna, I do not have the answers. I have never even come close to what you must be feeling right now; But, what I do know is that these feelings are very normal. In your line of work, this could happen again. If you become so jaded that you stop feeling, then you may as well be dead yourself. I think you have to feel, but be able to manage it.” I then asked, “Why do you think Trang wanted you dead? It sounds like he set you up.” “I think so too, and I walked right into it. I think he wanted to blame Nguyen’s

death and the witness’s death on the CIA. I was just the sacrificial lamb.” “Donna, can you tell me what happened next?” “I left. I went out the back door. I do not think anyone saw me. I went home. I was not sure what to do so I showered and changed my clothes. I had some water. I could not eat much. I realized I would have to report this to my boss. I also knew that if the National Police or the NLF were looking for me, I should not stay too long in my apartment, so I packed some things and came over here to room three fourteen. I then called my boss. I very calmly summarized what happened; I left out some of the details, and I did not tell him how I was feeling. He asked if I was okay. I lied and said that I was. He asked if any one saw me. I told him I did not think so. He advised that I play it safe and keep a low profile until I heard back from him. He suggested that I stay away from my apartment. He said he would have Joe, a colleague, shadow me, in case someone came looking. He said I could stay in room three fourteen, if I had no other place to go. It has a blow up mattress and each member of our team keeps “GO” bags there, with toiletries and changes of clothes, documents etc. After about a half hour in that room, everything started to hit me, and I started feeling bad about the three deaths and the images. I couldn’t sleep. I felt alone. Then I thought about Wednesday night. You told me how much you liked my dress and the way I looked. I thought about how much I enjoyed your company and how comforting you were to me after the spill. I really wanted to talk to someone I could trust.” Before she could say more, I told her she could spend the night if she wished. She looked at me with a question mark. “You can have the bed; I will take the sofa,” I said. “It is not a problem.”

16 AN AFFAIR TO

[The following is not something I could even mention to my wife in 1967, and I could only summarize to Carol, and to Brandy in 2004. However, I ed the details of that evening, and the days that ensued vividly, as if it was yesterday. These were memories that I would always cherish.]

****

Donna had risked telling me details that her boss could probably have reprimanded her for revealing; I am sure that he would not have thought I had a “need to know.” However, she needed to confide in someone, and I had listened. She seemed to feel better. I judged that she was okay with my offer to spend the night. I took her empty cup from her hand and set it on the coffee table next to mine. Then I moved up onto the sofa. Donna moved slightly to her left and back on the cushion making room for me to sit next to her on her right. “How is your wrist doing?” I asked. She lifted her arm so that I could see. I placed my left hand under her arm as she explained the brace. “It keeps me from moving my wrist. However, it is removable, so I can wash when I want to. It’s easy to remove and put back on… Watch.” She quickly removed the brace to demonstrate. I noticed there was still some discoloration. “Does it still hurt?” “Yes, but only when the brace is not on. They gave me some pain pills at the field hospital that I could take if I needed to, but I have not taken any since yesterday.”

“What about your leg? How is that doing?” Without hesitation, she pulled the hem of her skirt up to mid -thigh, and bent her leg up to show me the scrape and bruising on the outside of her right leg. As she did so, the hem of her dress moved further up her leg. The bruises were still there but slightly more yellow than before and what had been bloody scrapes were now scabbed over. I commented that they were looking better, but as I spoke I could not resist moving my hand lightly along the exposed injury on the side of her leg, and then slowly toward the top of her thigh under the hem of her dress. I looked up at the expression on her face, but removed my hand just as I heard her say “Peter…” Her tone was more like a question than it was an objection. I stood up so that I was in front of her. My right leg had ended up against the inside of her left leg and when she brought her right leg back down it ended up on the outside of my left leg. It was not planned that way; it just happened. With my legs braced against the front of the sofa, I leaned over and slid my hands under her hair that flowed down the sides of her head. I began to massage her temples. She looked at me questioningly and asked, “Peter, what are we doing?” To be honest I was not sure, but thinking back on it, I think we were both looking for a declaration of intent. My response was “Donna, I want you to let yourself relax. Is what I am doing okay?” I heard a soft but unsure “yes.” “Put your head back on the cushion.” She did, and I continued the massage, including the back of her neck. Her eyes were closed and she said, “What you are doing really feels good.” I do not know how much time went by, but I could feel her legs against mine, her face had become flush, and her breathing had quickened. I was feeling it too. She opened her eyes and looked dreamily at me. I felt the urge to kiss her, but was still hesitant. Then she said, “Peter, I am getting hot.” I had to think back about ten years to what “hot” really meant in situations like this. She saw my possible lack of understanding and then said “Peter I’m becoming sexually aroused.”

I think she knew I was aroused as well, but I asked her “Do you want me to stop?” She put her left hand on the back of my head, looked me in the eye, and said “No. Please don’t stop.” I kissed her tenderly on the mouth and started to pull away, but she said “Peter, I want you to love me.” “And I want you to feel loved,” I whispered back. She pulled me back toward her and at the same time drew her legs up so that her feet rested on top of the cushion of the sofa. Things went very fast after that. I told her she deserved all of the love I could give her. I reached behind her neck and untied the strap of her halter-top. I kissed her neck and moved my way down to her nipples. Then, I moved my hand down between her legs. Her panties were wet and I removed them. She sat up, undid the rope tie around the waist of my pajama bottoms, and I slipped them off. She put her good hand on my erection and the coolness increased my pleasure. For a moment, I thought she was going to take me in her mouth, but instead she looked up at me, put her arm around my neck, and said “Peter I want you to make love to me.” I put my hands on both sides of her head and kissed her on the mouth as she pulled me to her and we fell lengthwise onto the sofa. The next thing I is being inside of her and kissing her all at once. We held each other tightly and we both started laughing and crying at the same time from the intense pleasure. Orgasms came easily for both of us. Afterwards, we fell asleep on top of each other. As I came to, I slid off the edge of the sofa. Donna was sound asleep, so I picked our clothes up off the floor, got my pajama bottoms and a tee shirt, and made my way to the bathroom. I used the toilet and washed up. When I came back into the main room, Donna had awakened and was sitting up on the sofa. She seemed totally out of it. I sat next to her. “You were asleep. I tried not to wake you. Sorry. Are you okay?” She nodded in the affirmative. “There are fresh towels and a wash cloth on the shelf next to the sink. I set your bag over there. Let me know if you need anything…You okay?” “I have to go,” was her response as she quickly grabbed her bag and darted into the bathroom.

She returned ten minutes later, wearing a long pull over top. She sat down next to me on the bed where I had waited for her. “Which side of the bed do you prefer?” I asked. “Peter, I feel a bit awkward. You may find this hard to believe, but, I have never slept in bed with a man before.” “Well,” I said sincerely, “if you feel more comfortable, you can have the entire bed and I will take the sofa.” “No, I did not mean it that way. I want you next to me.” With that, we got under the covers, we hugged, and we quickly fell asleep. The next morning, Donna was already up and in the shower when I awoke. She was “bright eyed and bushy tailed” as they say. She came out of the bathroom fully dressed and greeted me. “Good morning. I am hungry. If you would like, I can get us something and bring it back while you are getting washed and dressed” “Thanks but I won’t be long in the shower. Wait for me and we can go together.” “Okay, I should have told you the whole truth, I need to go upstairs and check in.” “It’s okay Donna. Come back here when you are done and we can go out then. I noticed she left her large shoulder bag with the rest of her clothes and who knows what else. Out of curiosity, I was tempted to rummage through it. Did she have her gun? What was her real name? Of course, I refrained from doing so. We had a great day together. She told me not to react if I noticed someone following us. Earlier when she went upstairs, she had verified arrangements that she had made to have a protection detail shadow us. We had a late morning breakfast-brunch. We went to a commissary and she bought some additional clothes, etc. I bought some condoms and another bottle of seltzer water. That day we talked about everything…everything except what had happened the night before. That evening, we had a brandy and a light supper on the top floor of the Caravelle next door, and we enjoyed the 10th floor’s beautiful view of the city.

When we arrived, the weather outside was clear and the sun had not yet set. From the bar, we could watch the sun set, and as night fell, we could watch the lights come on across the city. Donna had her small shoulder bag in which I assumed she carried her gun, and I did notice that we were being “shadowed.” I felt good that we were “protected.” When we returned to my room, I told her I wanted to make love to her again. She was not shy at all. She let me totally explore her body and she totally enjoyed it. We made love, and I made sure that I used a condom. We went to sleep at around eleven. I thought I heard her whisper that she loved me as I fell asleep, but perhaps I imagined it. For some reason I awoke In the middle of the night. It was dark. I moved my arm to Donna’s side of the bed; she was not there. I clicked on the lamp next to the bed. It was two in the morning. Donna was not in the room. Perhaps she was in the bathroom. The door was shut. I knocked; there was no answer. I knocked again and called her name. “Donna are you in there?” I heard a feeble “yes.” “Are you okay?” I heard a feeble “no.” “May I come in?” “…I suppose.” I entered the room. Except for the night light plugged into the socket, she was sitting in the dark on the closed lid of the toilet. She had been crying. I stooped down beside her and asked softly, “Donna, what is going on?” She raised her head, looked directly at me, and began to speak excitedly and loudly. “You want to know what is going on? What is going on is that I am in love with a married man who loves his wife and who has a child on the way. That is not the way things are supposed to be, and I do not know what to do about it. After Friday night I felt guilty that maybe I took advantage of your emotions. I was needy, and asked you not to stop, and maybe you kept going when you would have preferred to stop. But then…the way you were tonight. I am a good Catholic girl, and you had condoms I did not even know about. It

made me wonder if I was wrong about you. Maybe all you cared about was the sex, and now I feel guilty about allowing you that privilege. When I was young, my mother made me go to confession every Saturday evening. Peter, is what we are doing a sin?” And then, she looked away and started crying again. “I guess we should talk about our relationship,” I suggested. “I guess so,” was her response between sobs. I started. “Well, I think that what happened between us on Friday night would never have happened if we did not have strong feelings for each other. Is what we are doing wrong? Is it not supposed to happen? I suppose only God knows that. But, I know it feels right to me. Maybe God has a plan for this to happen. I can’t say that what we have is not supposed to happen. I do not feel guilty or regret what we did, and I do not want you to feel guilty or have regrets either.” I continued. “I know that my feelings for you are a lot more than sexual. If my behavior earlier tonight offended you, I apologize, but I honestly thought you were enjoying it. Yes, it is true that I still love my wife, but I also care deeply for you.” She interrupted. “How can you say that, and still love your wife?” “I think it is possible to love more than one person. This may be a poor analogy, but if you love someone, and that loved one dies, you do not stop loving them. Even if you remarry and love your new spouse, you still have the memory and love for the first one. Perhaps it is hard to understand, but that is what I believe and how I feel.” “You are right. It’s a poor analogy. Your wife is not dead!” “Well I said it was a poor analogy. The point is I care about both of you.” I continued, “Donna, I think we need to be realistic about our relationship. I will be leaving in another three days, but Donna, I will always you and the way we felt about each other. Rather than longing for a life that we cannot have together, I think we should be grateful for what we do have. I think we should enjoy the opportunity we have with each other now. I know you would like to be married and have kids. Perhaps you are envious of my life, I don’t know, but I am convinced that someday you will meet someone who you will also love, and

that the life you want will happen for you. I would like to think that you would still us even then. However, there is no reason why you cannot love and be happy in the meantime. That is all I have ever wanted for you…to be happy. Please, come back to bed.” She remained seated on the toilet seat lid, and then spoke. “Peter, would it be okay if I go to church tomorrow? I don’t mean confession, just church; it has been awhile.” “Of course you can. You don’t need my permission, you know.” “I know. I would like you to come with me. Will you?” “Absolutely, it has been awhile for me as well.” Then she pulled me toward her, kissed the side of my face, and spoke softly into my ear. “Peter, I did enjoy the sex. And, I promise I will always you too.” With that, we returned to bed and we both went back to sleep.

****

On Sunday morning, we had breakfast downstairs, and we had a cab pick us up out front. Donna told the driver to take us to the Tan Dinh Church, not Notre Dame as I had expected. The church was on Hai Ba Trung in the direction of the airport. When we arrived, Donna requested that the cab return in an hour and one-half. No sooner had we stepped out of the cab, than I was struck by the image of the church before us. The entire structure was pink. I observed a tall bell tower before us with a steeple on top, perhaps reaching eighty feet in height. The sides of the building were flanked by smaller towers with steeples. Before entering into the nave of the church, we ed under an arch and into an open vestibule that was underneath the tower. It was at this point that a priest who recognized Donna greeted us. “Glad to see you come back to us Miss Rice.” As we entered the nave, Donna crossed herself as was customary. I took her lead

and did the same. We walked about a third of the way down the center isle to a place where we could kneel and sit. The pews were very basic. They were hard wooden benches with a single two by ten centimeter size board to lean back against. The pews were not intended for comfort. As I looked down the main isle of the nave I was impressed by the marble alter up front, and the crucifixion replication high above. The arched top of the nave may have been fifty feet above the floor. Both sides of the nave were lined with columns. Arched entryways spanned the columns, and led to additional seating and access aisles to the right and left of the nave. I judged the ceilings in the side areas to be about 25 feet above the floor. At the head of these side areas, closer to where we entered, were chapels that popped out from the sides of the building. At the altar end of the nave, archways on each side provided access to a one-story horseshoe shaped structure that wrapped around the backside of the altar. We did not go down there, but later Donna told me they used those rooms for classes, meetings, conferences, and the like. The columns and the walls of the inside of the nave were pink complimented by cream-colored trim. The pink color and the images of Christ combined with outdoor light coming in from above the columns, to create an ethereal aura. I had the feeling of being in a fairy tale or perhaps heaven itself. The church was only half-full. Most of the attendees were Vietnamese. A different priest than our greeter conducted the basic service, after which those who wished to take communion were asked to stay. I looked over at Donna who said we should leave. Although I was not Catholic, I knew that in the eyes of the Church neither of us were worthy of communion. The priest who had originally greeted us spoke to us again as we exited. He appeared to be Vietnamese, but he spoke perfect English. “Miss Rice what did you do to your wrist?” he asked politely. “I took a spill off my bike Friday evening.” “Miss Rice, I am surprised you did not stay for communion.” “I may not be worthy Father.” “Then you must come to confession.” “Perhaps I will, next Friday,” she replied.

Then he turned to me. “I am Father Jo. I have not seen you here before. I notice that you did not opt for communion either. I hear confessions on Friday evenings.” “I’m Peter Troutman. This is the first time I have been here. However, I am worthy! I am just not Catholic. I do not believe in the confessional.” A look on Donna’s face indicated she was not happy with my tone. “Well I welcome you to our church anyway, and I hope to see both of you again next Sunday,” he said before turning to speak to the next person exiting. I looked at my watch and we had a good forty-five minute wait before the cab would return. We discussed the possibility of walking but it was a long way, the weather was warm, and rain was possible. It would not have been a nice thing to do to the cab driver either. We thought better of it. Donna and I found a sheltered place outside in the garden area where we could sit and talk. “Peter, I did not realize you were not Catholic. Perhaps you did not know that in the Catholic Church you are not supposed to take communion unless you are ‘worthy,’ which means you are Catholic and you have confessed your sins. Only the priest can decide if you have sinned, and if so, absolve you. I did not like the quip you made to Father Jo about your worthiness.” I felt bad. I had come to church with her because I wanted to her, and now I let her down, by saying something stupid. “I owe you an apology. I know you needed my this morning and the last thing I wanted to do was to embarrass you. I should not have said it. I am sorry. Please forgive me.” “Why did you say it?” “It was your exchange with Father Jo that set me off. I was annoyed by the implication that we were not worthy. I think that we are both worthy, and I do not think we have sinned.” Although it was on my mind, I did not tell her of my conversation with George back in March about his friend Ben. “Although you are not Catholic, I get the impression that you have been to a Catholic church before. Do you practice a religion?”

“Actually, I have deep spiritual beliefs. I told you once that I think differently than most people. My religious beliefs are different as well.” “Tell me what you believe.” “Okay. I believe in a spiritual God. I believe that all of us have a good spirit within us, some more, some less, and that spirit is my concept of God. My wife is Catholic, or I should say was Catholic. Before I married her, I needed to know how accepting I would be of her, and how accepting she would be of me. I read about Catholicism and about other religions as well. I was convinced that all organized religions have something good about them. However, I did not find even one that was right for me, so I formed my own beliefs and religious concepts. I try to respect other peoples’ rights to believe and practice their own religious, political, and economic ideologies, as long as I am free to practice my own. I agreed to be married in a Catholic Church. She agreed that she would not try to convert me, and we found a liberal priest who was okay with that. We also agreed that we would share our beliefs and attend both Catholic and Protestant churches. We agreed that if we had children, we would expose them to all religions and allow them to make an educated choice rather than force them to practice a particular religion. Regarding Catholicism, I do not want my children to go around feeling guilty and unworthy all the time.” Donna put her hand over mine, and said “I do not disagree with you. I often felt that way about myself, you know, guilty and unworthy. I like your idea of exposing your kids to multiple religions. You are fortunate that your wife agrees.” At this point, our cab arrived and we returned to the hotel. As we walked through the lobby, Donna noticed a note in the mailbox for room 314 and had the desk clerk hand it to her. “What is it?” I asked. “It is from Joe.” I assumed Joe was the person who was following us everywhere we went. “He has delivered a suitcase for me. Will you come up with me?” This was good news for both of us. Donna was in need of fresh clothes, and I never liked it when women commandeered a bathroom by washing things in the sink, and hanging them over the shower curtain rod. We retrieved the suitcase and then returned to our room.

We were hungry, so I offered to get some food from the café across the street, and bring it back to the room. As I entered the café, Han greeted me. I told Han I was leaving next week and that I was pleased to have met her and enjoyed her special Pho. “Donna will miss you,” she said. “Tell her I say hello.” I think she figured out that I was bringing the food to Donna. When I returned to our room, I mentioned this to Donna. I do not believe anything of significance happened the rest of that afternoon. We were both tired. We ate, shared a newspaper, and talked. Later that evening, we prepared for bed and were about to turn off the lamp when Donna said, “Peter, could I ask you something?” “Sure, what’s on your mind?” “Promise you will be honest with me when you answer.” “Of course. I promise.” “Well, do you think we are compatible? I mean like if we were to be together as a couple.” I looked at her and contemplated why she would ask that. Perhaps she was looking for self-validation, or possibly further justification for our affair. “Yes, I do think we are compatible. We are able to talk to each other, like right now. I think we have the capacity and ability to resolve issues that may exist between us. I have appreciated how tolerant you have been of my idiosyncrasies, such as my tendency to overreact. Although I do not do as good of a job of being tolerant as you, I do try.” Then she asked, “If you were not already married, do you think you could be married to someone like me?” “Of course I could. In fact, if I was not already married I would ask you to marry me right now. If I did, would you say yes?” “Would you expect me to quit my job and move to Rochester?”

“No, if you were to continue doing what you are doing, I would that. As far as moving to Rochester, I am not sure it would matter where your home base was if you were always in the field. However, I would like to finish the five courses I have left and get my MBA. After that, I could live and work anywhere. I have thought about IBM. They have locations everywhere. Their Federal Systems division is in the DC area, which is close to CIA headquarters in Langley. I think that if we were married we would be able to resolve issues like that. Tell me about kids. Do you plan to have kids? “Yes, I have always dreamed of that. However, I think it would be difficult if I were still doing what I do now.” I could see that she was struggling with life choice issues. “Donna, I think that choices between career and family are always difficult, especially for women, but many women are able to have both. I know you are good at your job. I also think that when you are ready, you will be an excellent wife and mother. All marriages require some compromises and some sacrifices. You and your husband would need to decide what is most important to you and how to balance work versus raising children. Perhaps you work for a while, then have children, and then go back to work when they are older. Perhaps you hire a nanny. Perhaps when the kids are old enough, you enroll them in a nursery school. Your husband may need to play a more active role in sharing the duties of raising a child. When you are married, you have faith in your spouse. If you and your husband are compatible, you can agree on how to handle issues as the issues develop.” I looked at her wondering if she would answer my hypothetical marriage proposal. She seemed to be confused as to what to say next. Then she got misty eyed, came over to my side of the bed, put her arm over my neck, pulled me toward her, and kissed me hard on the mouth. “Peter, I love you, but I am very tired tonight, and we will have a busy day tomorrow. Would it be okay if we just hold each other tonight?” We fell asleep in each other’s arms.

17 MOVING ON

On Monday, I finished correcting data files, generating reports and instructing the Captain on how to proceed after I left. The final PEN report on Monday morning showed the probability of Event 360 to be sixty percent. The target events that surrounded Event 360 all had high probabilities above forty percent. A trend analysis showed that all of the target events crossed the ninety percent threshold near the end of January 1968, around the time of the Tet holiday. None of the events in the PEN network that I could determine to be counter measures had significant probabilities. Before leaving the Captain’s office that afternoon, I engaged him in a conversation about how the results of PEN would be used. I really wanted to know that some good would come out of all the work I had done. “Captain I know that you review these results with the Colonel, but who sees the results after that? More importantly, who decides what actions to take?” “Peter, you ask an excellent question. The Colonel, Sam, and I review it first. Then we make recommendations, which the Colonel takes to his superior and to the CIA Station chief. Usually that would be enough to decide on actions. The decisions would be ed on back down the military chain to the appropriate field commanders. However, if critical enough, the recommendations and intelligence would go up the line all the way to General Westmoreland, the Secretary of Defense, and in some cases the President himself. If it means getting ARVN involved, there is a whole parallel chain of command. Sometimes it can get very political, and in my opinion, politicians do not think the way we do. Whereas you and I try to maximize the probability of successfully solving a problem, a politician seems to be concerned about minimizing the possibility of being removed from office. For example, suppose our intelligence showed that North Vietnam had an army of troops on the Cambodian border and was planning an invasion that would capture villages on this side of the border. You and I would probably recommend sending troops into Cambodia to destroy them before they could act. A politician

on the other hand, might decide that doing so would make it look like we were the aggressors and that we were invading another sovereign country. The politician might decide to wait for them to attack, so that we can say we were defending ourselves. If our defense were to fall short, the politician would blame the CIA for bad intelligence, or blame ARVN for not doing its part. You did not hear this from me, but there have been rumors, all denied by officialdom, but ed by PEN, that the North Vietnamese army and the Vietcong might be planning a coordinated Tet Offensive. It is still months away, so there is time to act. I hope that perhaps officialdom will take notice and appropriate counter events will prevail.” “Captain, I hope we take appropriate action also. I have confidence that you will make good arguments in of the intelligence.”

****

Late on Monday afternoon, I thought about Bob and the significant contribution he made to the cause. I needed to thank him before I went back to the States. I called him on a secure phone. He answered. “Bob, this is Peter Troutman. I want to thank you for the significant contribution you made.” His response caught me totally off guard. “Mr. Troutman, thank me? I should not even talk with you. What have you gotten me involved in?” He was speaking loudly; he was livid. “Bob, what do you mean?” I asked. “I met Nguyen. I talked with her. You never told me I would be responsible for helping the CIA to put a bullet through her head. She was an honored ARVN female lieutenant.” “Bob please calm down. The news article you read on Friday was wrong. She was a spy, an agent for the Viet Cong. The CIA did not take out the Lieutenant! The CIA wanted her alive so that they could interrogate her and find out who she was working for. Unfortunately, the CIA never got the chance. She was killed by

someone that wanted to keep her from talking. You did not help the CIA to kill her. On the other hand, what you are responsible for is helping to expose an enemy agent, and allowing the PEN project, and possibly other projects, to continue operating. There is no trace of your involvement, and I thought what you gave me was very professionally done. I cannot tell you what the PEN project is, but I am hoping that in the long-run it will save lives. If you still feel I have deceived you I apologize. It was not my intent to deceive you. I wanted to show my appreciation. I have something for you, but I will be leaving day after tomorrow. Is there any chance we could connect up before then?” After a pause, he calmly says. “Peter, I do not always adjust to things right away. Perhaps I have over reacted. Where are you?” “I am at work.” “I know you have no transportation; I will pick you up at five PM. You can buy me a drink.” Then he hung up. It had been my intent to give him a fifth of Johnny Walker, a whiskey I knew he liked. The only problem was that I had not bought it yet. I also had another problem. I had forgotten that for the first time since coming to Saigon, I had a houseguest that would wonder where I was. It was 4:00 PM. I had one hour to figure this out. I called Bob right back and asked, “Bob could you drive over to the Continental Palace instead? I would like to ask my friend Donna to us for drinks and for dinner afterwards. Are you okay with Italian food?” “Peter, I sure have underestimated you! You dog you. Italian is fine. I’ll see you both at five.” I then found a cab and had the driver take me to the nearest Commissary where I had the driver wait while I bought a fifth of Johnny Walker, and then drive me to the Continental Palace. Donna was not there, so I began writing a note, but at five minutes before the hour, she came in. “Peter, you must have left work early,” she said, showing her surprise. “I did not expect you to be here.”

“Yes,” I said as I gave her a hello kiss. “Something came up and I need to ask a favor of you. I would like it if you could Bob Nunn and me for a drink and maybe I should buy him dinner as well. I want to thank him for what he did for us. I apologize for the short notice, but he did not respond to my phone call until an hour ago.” It was a white lie. I should have discussed it with her on Sunday, and I should not have waited until late afternoon to call Bob. “Are you okay with that? I would understand it you can’t do it.” “When?” I looked at my watch as I sheepishly replied, “right now.” “Okay, but you need to hold him off long enough for me to freshen up. Where are we going to eat?” “I thought we could have drinks at the bar here at the Continental Palace and then dinner at La Dolce Vita. He likes Italian.” “Okay…suggestion…Go on downstairs and make a seven o’clock reservation for dinner. Hold Bob off. I will meet you at the hotel entrance as soon as I can get there.” Then she pecked me on the cheek and headed for the bathroom. By the time I got down the stairs, Bob was already waiting in his vehicle. I looked around and saw a place where he could park his vehicle. I had the Johnny Walker with me in a brown paper bag. “Bob this is for you. Why don’t you put this into your car? You can park your car over there,” I said as I pointed to the spot I had in mind. “Then meet me back here. I will treat you to a drink and dinner at La Dolce Vita, but I need to reserve a table while you are parking.” I walked several yards down the sidewalk and entered La Dolce Vita. I made a reservation for three at 7:00 PM, and then walked back to the entrance to the Continental Palace. Bob was already waiting. “Peter, I thank you for the Whiskey. All of this is really not necessary you know.” He looked around, and then said, “Didn’t you say that you were going to have your friend us?” “I did. Here she comes now.” After I made introductions, the three of us headed up to the bar on the ground floor of the Continental Palace. The fact that we were being followed did not bother me. I knew who it was. The three of us had drinks, and talked while

Donna’s protector watched us from the far corner of the bar. The conversation was mostly chitchat. We could not talk business because Bob did not know who Donna really was. After our first round of drinks, Bob asked if curfew tonight was at 2300 hours and when should we head over to La Dolce Vita. Donna promptly said she thought curfew was at 2300 and suggested we head over to the restaurant at 1850, to be there before our reservation at 1900 hours. That prompted Bob to tell a joke. “Hey you guys, that reminds me of a joke. I think the two of you can relate to it. It goes something like this.” I held my breath hoping it would not be too off-color, as Bob began without a pause.

“A rooky male reporter was sent to Saigon to do a human-interest story about an unmarried female army Sergeant. In Saigon, the number of men outnumbered the women by at least twenty to one. The idea was to portray the life of such a woman living in a man’s world. The reporter found an appropriate female Sergeant on a Saturday evening, quietly sitting alone at a bar sipping a drink. He approached her and tried to engage her in conversation. He said, ‘Excuse me, Sergeant, but you seem to be a very serious woman. Is something bothering you?’ ‘Negative brother,’ the Sergeant said, ‘Just serious by nature.’ The young reporter looked at the Sergeant’s awards and decorations and said, ‘It looks like you have seen a lot of action.’ The Sergeant’s short reply was, ‘Yes, brother, a lot of action.’ The young reporter, tiring of trying to start up a conversation, said, ‘You know, you should lighten up a little. Relax and enjoy yourself.’ The Sergeant just stared at him in her serious manner. Finally, the young reporter said, ‘You know, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but when is the last time you had sex?’ The Sergeant looked at him and replied, ‘1958.’ ‘Well, there you are,’ he said. ‘You really need to chill out and quit taking everything so seriously! I mean no sex since 1958! Isn’t that a little extreme?’

The Sergeant, glancing at her watch, said in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘You think so? It’s only 2132 now.’”

We all laughed and Bob continued with, “Peter, don’t we love that military time!” Then Bob wanted to know where Donna and I met. I said in the lobby of the hotel as she was staying there as well. However, I am quite certain he assumed we were sharing a room. He wanted to know what Donna did, and why she was in Saigon. Donna told him she was a provider of host services for USAID. “Oh,” Bob said. “USAID is one of IBM’s s. In fact, I sometimes teach a class over there. Perhaps I will run into you there.” Then he started chatting with her. Finally, in full character for Bob, he said, “Donna, I understand Peter is leaving Saigon in a couple of days. You know this guy is married don’t you? Unlike Peter, I am not. Would it be all right if I call you? Maybe we could get together.” I looked over to Donna. I wondered how she would respond, or if she expected me to respond. Donna responded quickly, and what she said surprised me. “Bob, I appreciate your offer, but it will not be possible. I just found out that I will be transferred back to the States. I leave on Wednesday, same time as Peter.” Then she turned to me and said, “Peter, I found out earlier today but I did not have a chance to tell you.” Donna reminded us that it was time for dinner. I paid the bill and we got up to leave. Our protector followed us out. We exited the hotel and entered La Dolce Vita from the street. Of course, Donna’s protector did not follow us into the restaurant, but probably kept an eye on the door. Anna Faby greeted us as we entered. She was the owner’s wife, and often greeted people as they came in. I had eaten there a couple times before and she acted as if she ed me. I would describe the decor inside the restaurant as somewhat basic, austere, or rustic. There was a pronounced look of wood: simple wooden tables, wooden chairs, wooden railings, and large wooden posts. The archways that led to the outside were fitted with heavy wooden French style doors. What looked like a metal wagon wheel was mounted on one of the walls. However, what really set the room apart in my opinion was the floor. The floor was a terrazzo

type material with a reddish pattern. This was not unusual. Terrazzo floors were often found in hotels and public buildings in Saigon. Table clothes with a red and white checkered pattern covered the restaurant’s tables. The table clothes complemented the floor color quite nicely. The red terrazzo floor and the red and white checkered table clothes combined to give the decor a needed bit of class. As I said, I had been there a couple of times before. I liked Italian food, and there were not too many places in Saigon where one could have Italian food. The food here was not the best, but it was good and the service was friendly. Donna and I stuck to basics…spaghetti and meatballs for me, lasagna for Donna. On the other hand, Bob ordered a more sophisticated and more expensive dish. Actually, he ordered the most extravagant item on the menu. I believe he ordered a beef tenderloin served with a green vegetable and risotto. Bob had a glass of an expensive Chianti Reserve as well. Perhaps he was reacting to his disappointment that Donna was not going to be around to date him. I was okay about it though. As far as I was concerned, for what he did for me, he deserved anything he wanted…well food-wise that is. We talked a bit more as we ate, mostly chitchat. After dinner, I paid the bill and Bob thanked me profusely for the drinks and dinner. The three of us walked down to Bob’s vehicle where we exchanged best wishes and said goodnight. Donna and I watched Bob drive off. He had plenty of time before curfew. Donna and I returned to our room, we sat on the sofa and talked. She asked if I was getting jealous when Bob started coming on to her. “Maybe a little,” I itted. “I also thought it was insensitive of him to ask you for a date in front of me.” Then I asked her, “If you were still in Saigon, would you have dated him?” “Peter, you told me he was a womanizer and slept with prostitutes. What do you think?” “I think not” I responded. “I guess I am feeling a bit vulnerable right now. It was wrong of me to ask.” Then, I changed the subject. “Donna, I was surprised when you said you were also leaving on Wednesday. What is going on?” “Peter, I found out earlier today. My boss gave me the news over the phone, but did not say too much more. He told me that I am to leave on Wednesday, but that

the details will come. He also said that he wants me to meet with him and the Station Chief tomorrow to go over details about the situation. I have this fear that I may be in trouble.” “I do not think you should be concerned. I think they should give you a medal. They are probably just trying to protect you.” “Well if my boss and the station chief were to talk with the National Police Commissioner and explain that their inspector was a traitor, I would think they could be persuaded to stop any hunt for his killer. After all, they would not want the bad publicity of having a traitor working for them.” “That may be true, but what about retaliation from the Vietcong? Your boss may think that to be a possibility. In any case, it is possible that your cover has been blown and they know who you are. If your cover is blown, that would limit what else you could do here. Besides, you completed your assignment. Doesn’t it make sense that you should leave? I don’t think you are in any trouble with your bosses. I think they are protecting you. Worrying won’t help. You need to relax,” I said, as I put my arm around her and pulled her close. “I hope you are right. Peter, there’s one more thing I need to tell you.” “What is that?” “My boss, John, wants to meet separately with you tomorrow also. He will send a car to MACV tomorrow at 3:00 PM to pick you up.” “Why?” “He says he needs to debrief you. I am concerned that he may be testing me. I may have let you know things that I was not supposed to let you know.” “I see. Well unless he uses torture techniques, I promise I will not sell you out.” “Peter I need you to take this seriously.” “Donna, you need to trust me.” “Let’s go to bed,” she said, as she gave me a peck on the cheek and rose up from the sofa.

****

We were both up early on Tuesday. Donna had her meeting with her station chief in the morning. She also had to finish cleaning out her apartment and make travel arrangements. I had to wrap things up with everyone at MACV, and later I needed to meet with Donna’s boss, John. I started the morning by making sure that all of my things were cleared out, and that all documents were secure or returned to the persons that owned them. Then I set out to say goodbye to each person individually. After I saw the computer room guys downstairs, I walked upstairs and turned in my two building badges to Danny. I saved the Captain for last, and we had lunch in the building café. He asked about Donna, but I told him I could not say too much. We agreed to keep in touch. I gave him my address in Rochester New York, and he gave me his APO address. On Tuesday afternoon, everyone gathered in a conference room and they presented me with a going away cake and a bottle of brandy. Everyone was nice and polite but somewhat downbeat, I thought. Perhaps they could not believe that Nguyen was a spy. Perhaps they could not get over the death of a co-worker. Perhaps they felt the future of the team and their assignments were uncertain. Perhaps they were just learning that I was a spy of sorts. Whatever it was, they kept it to themselves. I expressed my regrets about the unplanned loss of their co-worker, and I thanked them for their cooperation in preventing the further loss of classified information to the enemy. John’s driver arrived at precisely 3:00 PM and took me to the embassy. We ed through the guards at the gate and I was let out of the car. I went to the receptionist and told her I had an appointment with John…and it dawned on me I did not his last name. I tried to the party at his house back in March. Did he give his last name, or was it just John? Fortunately, I was saved when John’s representative came over to greet me and escort me to John’s office. I noticed the name and title on his door was Jon Wilson, Inter-agency Liaison. Turns out, I didn’t even have his first name right. I had thought it was John not Jon.” I am thinking to myself, “next time you have an interview Peter, do your

homework first.” The representative escorted me into the office and Jon greeted me. “Good afternoon Peter. It has been a few months since I last saw you.” We shook hands. “Good afternoon to you. Nice office.” “Peter, can I have my secretary bring you a cup of coffee?” “No Jon. Thanks, but I am fine. What is it that you need to talk to me about?” “I want to start by thanking you for a job well done. I know you got a little more than you bargained for, but you stepped up to the challenge. You proved to be a good analyst and a good detective. I could not have expected more. Thank you. And Peter, if you are interested, I would gladly recommend you for future assignments.” Then he told me what he would do in of references, thank you letters, and future s the CIA might have with me. “I appreciate your confidence in me. I was glad I could do something for my country. I enjoyed the work.” Then without thinking, I added “But I had never expected that my work would result in people being killed.” “Lieutenant Nguyen was a spy working for the enemy. Lest you think otherwise, the CIA had nothing to do with her death. The news report was wrong. However, you mentioned people. That implies that you know more than you should. How did you know there was more than one person? Perhaps you want to tell me what you know, and how you know it. What did Donna tell you?” Whoops, I am thinking. I had better not betray Donna. “Jon, with all due respect, your reaction just gave it away.” As I said this, he began smiling, but I continued. “I can assure you that Donna did not tell me anything that I did not have a need to know. I can also assure you that whatever I know about this will remain with me.” “Peter, that’s what I needed to hear. As part of this debriefing, I am also obligated to remind you that your non-disclosure agreement requires that everything about your work here must remain secret as long as it remains classified. I also am required to tell you that nothing we have discussed is to leave this room. Are we good?”

“We’re good.” Then after a pause, I said, “I’d like to ask you something, off the record so to speak. I know that Donna met with you earlier today. Is she in trouble?” “No, but I am taking precautions regarding her safety and regarding her state of mind. I have decided to give her a well-deserved break. She can tell you all about it tonight when you see her.” “Jon, I need to know something. Is there any chance that the National Police may try to stop her at the airport as she tries to leave?” “She also asked that and I told her not to worry. I have taken steps to preclude that from happening.” As we shook hands to say goodbye, Jon said, “Peter I know that you and Donna have had something going between you. I sincerely hope you do not mess up your marriage the way I did with Linda. It is all about “emotional intelligence.” I hope you are better at it than I was.” That evening, Donna asked how my debriefing went. “It went very well,” I told her. “I did not have to tell him what I knew, and he did not try to find out if you broke any rules with me. He just wanted to be sure that I would never talk about anything that I did know. He also told me I did a great job and he thought that I should interview with the CIA in the Spring when they come to Rochester. He said I could use him as a reference if I wanted to, and he would see to it that an appropriate thank you letter went to my employer.” “Peter I am glad for you.” Then, I asked Donna how her meeting went. “You were right, I am not in trouble, but I don’t think I am getting a medal either. I have a new assignment back in the States. Please understand that I cannot tell you about it.” “I understand,” I replied. “Donna, when I talked with Jon, I told him I was concerned about the possibility of the National Police detaining you at the airport as you try to leave. He told me he had made arrangements to assure your safe age.” “Yes, I met with both he and the station chief. They told me they had a meeting

with the Commissioner and told him the CIA had evidence that his Inspector Trang was a traitor. They said the Commissioner promised not to interfere with my leaving. Afterwards, I met separately with Jon. He reassured me that he was looking out for my best interests. Jon also provided me with a special exit visa, approved by the Commissioner, and provided me with details of my new assignment.” Then Donna told me the details about our orders to leave tomorrow, Wednesday, August 16. Early tomorrow morning a colleague would drive us to the embassy and the airport. We would fly on the same flight to Hong Kong, but she would need to be debriefed, have a medical exam, meet with a psychoanalyst, and then get some R and R before flying the rest of the way home. “All standard procedure,” she assured me. I asked if she needed any help getting her things ready to travel. She told me that her apartment was declared safe. She had been able to go over there during the day and retrieve everything she needed to take with her. She also told me that someone was assigned to pack everything else from the apartment into a crate that would be shipped home to her mom. “And Peter, do you the orchid that Linda gave me for my birthday? I had it on a windowsill. It did really well. I was able to leave it with Han. My colleague had interviewed her and decided there was no risk if she knew I was leaving the country.” I asked about her bike. She told me that one of her colleagues gave her a fair price, but she was sorry to have to part with it. However, she gleefully added, “I saved the pictures you took.” We talked about the possibility of staying in touch. I told her I knew about the one secret she had been keeping from me. “What secret?” she asked. “I know that your real name is not Donna Rice.” She looked surprised. “It’s okay, I understand, but to stay in touch I need to know how to reach you.” “After two weeks, I will be living with my mom. I will write down her name and address and phone number, but Peter, please understand that giving you this is against the rules and it could endanger lives, including yours, if anyone knows my true identity. I will give it to you when we reach Hong Kong. As far as staying in touch, I want us to stay in touch, and I want us to each other, but please be discreet. I do not want you to risk your marriage over

something that we cannot have together.” Tuesday night we finished packing, and made love for the last time. She told me she would always me, and I promised the same.

****

The next morning someone who introduced himself as Joe picked us up in front of the hotel. Right away, I recognized him as Donna’s “protector.” I said “Hello, a pleasure to finally be introduced.” Joe remained expressionless and did not respond. We went to the embassy. We turned in our IDs and retrieved our ports. I converted my remaining local currency and MPCs into dollars, and received my travel documents. Once again, I would fly Pan Am to Los Angeles. I was disappointed that there could be no overnight in Hong Kong for me, only for Donna. My flight to Los Angeles would depart Hong Kong Wednesday afternoon, same as in March. The only difference was that it would arrive in Los Angeles one hour later due to daylight saving time. Joe drove us to the Tan Son Nhut Airport. We checked our luggage. Mine would go all the way through to Los Angeles. Waiting in line to board the plane felt like awaiting an execution. Donna may have felt the same thing. It did not help to notice two Vietnamese men watching the line. Were they undercover police? We knew the end for us was in sight, and it was difficult to know what to say to each other. We boarded the plane. Our assigned seats were not near each other. Her seat was up near the front and mine midway back. After we landed, Donna looked back at me before leaving the plane. It seemed to take forever to deplane, But when I did, she was there waiting. She ran toward me, gave me a long hard kiss, and shoved something into my pocket. Then she looked up at me with tears in her eyes, and as she noticed my tears, she quickly turned and headed for the baggage area. I stared for a moment, wishing I could chase after her, but knew I could not. I turned and went the other way toward my connecting flight. As I waited in the waiting area, I pulled the note from my pocket. She had hand-written it while on the plane. It was her mother’s name, address, and phone number.

Mrs. Paul Cinelli 9906 Rosedale Ave Bethesda, Maryland Tel: 301-555-1212

I trust you, Donna

18 A NORMAL LIFE

I got home late Thursday night August 17. When I arrived home, I was exhausted and felt like I had been through an emotional ringer. I ed Jon’s advice about “emotional intelligence.” I sucked it up and made a point of focusing on my wife. I wanted to get back to a normal life. However, this was not to be, at least not yet. Penelope’s water broke on Saturday evening. Our daughter was born in the back seat or our car, in the middle of the city, at two in the morning, on the way to the hospital. She was about five weeks premature. Needless to say, managing emotions was very difficult. The Captain and I made good on our agreement to exchange greeting cards at the end of 1967. Back then, it was common practice to exchange holiday cards and notes with family and friends, especially if they were any distance away. I sent him a Hanukah card. I told him I was glad to be home, that I had a new daughter and I was back in graduate school. I also said, “A part of me misses you and the team. I hope our efforts make a difference, and that things are going in the right direction.” The Captain responded with a religious Christmas card in which he congratulated me on my new daughter, and wished me and my family the best. Then he added, “The team is doing well and they also wish you well. Things are looking up as we approach the holidays. I talked to Jon the other day. He said he was making plans for the holidays in Nam, and looking forward to celebrating the coming of our savior from on high.” The Captain knew that my security clearance was no longer active (though I found out later it was kept “current”). I appreciated his message. It was clearly in code, but discreet enough to avoid any suspicion on the part of Penelope. I was pleased that my work was still useful to them. I was not pleased that that the likelihood of a TET offensive was trending upward, but I was pleased that they were hopeful that the higher-ups would take appropriate action. That was the last time I ever heard from the Captain. Once when I was in Washington DC I went to the Vietnamese War Memorial Wall and searched for his name. It was not

there. I never knew what happened to him. As for the rest of the Captain’s team, I never heard from any of them again either. Chan had been reported as missing in action. His body was never found. I had hoped that Jeff would give me a call if he made it back to Rochester while I was still there, but he never did. I never heard from Bob Nunn again, but years later, I was able to find out what happened to him through people at IBM. It was not a happy ending for Bob. Apparently, he was killed in an automobile accident somewhere in Europe. I had also attempted to stay in touch with Donna, more than once. We exchanged Christmas cards and notes in December of 1967. I told her about the birth of my daughter, and wished she and her family a wonderful Christmas. She replied with a polite note saying she was enjoying being home again and wished me and my family the best. A year later, I sent another Christmas wish to Donna. I had enclosed a note asking how she was doing, and telling her my latest news. In 1968, I had received my MBA degree, turned down a permanent job offer from the CIA, and by September, I had started a job with IBM in East Fishkill, New York. I heard nothing back from her and was disappointed. I called the telephone number she had given me. Her mother answered and told me Donna was not home. I left a message, but never got a call back. After our experience in Saigon, I wanted to remain friends with Donna, and thought the feeling to be mutual. Perhaps I was being too idealistic or naive and expected too much. After that, Penelope and I had a second child, and I became totally focused on my wife, family, and my career. My career at IBM went very well, but the CIA continued to keep tabs on me as well. They kept my clearance ‘current’ so they could reactivate it if needed. Every now and then they would me and ask me to do a short-term consulting type project for them. A few of these were memorable. [I promised Carol I would tell her about them at another time.] For the next fifteen years, more or less, Penelope, our two daughters, and I lived a good life. I had married Penelope in 1965 and we were together until 1986. By this time, Penelope and I both realized that we were smothering each other. We needed more self-validation, more space psychologically, etc. We separated and I took an assignment with IBM in Rockville, Maryland. I began to think of Donna again, and sometime in 1987, I tried to her.

I ed that Donna had given me her parents address and phone number twenty years prior when she went home to her mother in Bethesda, Maryland. That was not very far away from Rockville. Perhaps her mother still lived there, I thought. Unfortunately, I no longer had the address and phone number in my possession. With a little investigation and help from the phone book, I was able to find two Paul Cinellis living in Bethesda, so I made phone calls. The first attempt was a success. Donna’s mother answered and told me that her daughter was married and living in Potomac, Maryland. I asked for her last name and her address so I could send a letter to her. The mother was reluctant to give me any information. “Could I at least have her phone number?” I asked to no avail. However, the mother did finally give me a post office box where Donna would receive mail for work related matters. I wrote Donna a letter saying that I hoped she would me. I mentioned that I had a senior level position with IBM and that I had just been transferred into the area. I asked how she was doing and although I was getting a divorce from Penelope, I was pleased to hear that she was married and hoped she was happy. I left my address and phone number, and I offered to meet for coffee and catch up on old times. Two months went by before I received a response. In a short and polite note, Donna apologized for the delay in getting back to me and said her travel schedule made it very difficult. She said she definitely ed me, but did not think it would be possible or wise to meet. She said she was happily married with two kids in college. She said she was sorry to hear I was divorced, but pleased to hear that I had a successful career, as she always thought I would. I figured that she was still working for the CIA and wanted to stay low key. Perhaps she was protecting her family. Perhaps she was afraid of rekindling an old flame, or perhaps I was just naïve to think that she would still care to see me again. Very shortly thereafter, I married Carol, and I gave no more thought to reconnecting with Donna, at least not until now. Now in 2004 more than thirty-six years since I left Saigon, I wondered “what if.” What would have happened if Bob had not provided critical evidence when he did, leading to three deaths and an affair, but also getting me home before the birth of my daughter. What if Donna had not come to my room that Friday evening? What if I had never gone to Vietnam? Would I have had a more normal life? Then again, what is a normal life anyway?

****

[It was Friday evening and I was to meet Brandy Evans the next morning. At this point, I had described my entire experience to my wife Carol, including the affair. Well, of course I omitted a few intimate details out of consideration. Carol said she was okay with what I was telling her, as long as it was “not on her watch.” I reaffirmed that I had and would always be faithful to her.]

19 MEETING BRANDY

On Saturday morning, I walked into the Lakeside Coffee Shop in Columbia at five minutes before ten. I was eager to hear what this was all about and I made sure that I was not late. The Lakeside was located on the bottom floor of an office building, and shared a parking lot with the Rouse Headquarters next door. Large windows afforded a view of a small park and a partial view of Lake Kittamaqundi. The lake was only about fifty yards down the stairs and across a grassy area where they held concerts in the summer. The inside had tables with comfortable chairs and in one corner a sofa and three large cushioned chairs. Just outside the main door was a patio with tables. When the weather was warm, you could eat outside and enjoy the view, or the music. I had come here many times before. I enjoyed coming here. As a coffee lover, I especially enjoyed the smell of freshly ground beans. It was a relaxing place to be-a good place to get away when I needed a break. Most of my consulting work occurred in my home office, either on the computer or on the phone, and I often needed a change of pace, so I would come here to have lunch. Sometimes I would meet business associates, usually vendors, or people that I worked with. Their club sandwiches and the coffee were top notch. I even had one of those cards that entitled you to a free coffee after you had ten punches on your card, and a similar one that gave a discount after ten sandwiches. One would wait in line at the counter and when it was your turn, you ordered and gave them your name. Although I did not really know him, I was impressed that if the owner took my order, he would already know my name. When your lunch order was ready, they would call your name and deliver it to your table. The place was usually busy, even on Saturdays, like today. As soon as I entered the shop, I looked around but did not see anyone that appeared as if they were lost or looking for someone. I took a seat at one of the remaining empty small tables. Whenever, I met with new business associate for coffee or lunch, I would wonder how I would know who they were because l always forgot to ask what they looked like ahead of time. This was no exception. However, I recognized Brandy Evans as soon as she walked in the door about

five minutes later. Although she looked to be in her mid-thirties and probably married with kids, she looked remarkably like the way I ed Donna. Like her mother, she was tall and thin. Unlike her mother, her hair was dark. However, I somehow knew it was she right away. It was uncanny. It turns out she recognized me as well, but I did not know how until later. I stood up and we greeted each other. “Hello, are you Mister Troutman?” “Yes, but please call me Peter. May I call you Brandy?” “Please do.” “Please have a seat. Brandy you look remarkably like I your mother. As I came in, you seemed to know who I was. How is that?” She chuckled. “My mother had a picture of you from nineteen-sixty-seven.” “Surely, I no longer look like that do I?” She chuckled. “You also have a business website with your picture on it.” “Oh, I forgot about that. Would you like a coffee, and perhaps something to go with it?” “Just a regular coffee,” she answered. “No cream or sugar. Thanks.” “I will be right back.” I ordered two house coffees and brought them back to the table myself. “Brandy, did you have any problem finding this place?” “No not at all.” “Have you been here before?” “Not to the coffee shop, but I often stop here in Columbia on my way home from work. I work over at the NSA.” “Oh, may I ask what you do over there?” “Nothing like what my mother did. I am just an istrative Assistant.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” I responded. Then I changed the subject. “I was sorry to hear that your mother ed away. Did you say she had cancer?” “Yes, ovarian. It came quickly and she only had a few months to get her affairs in order.” “Where did your mother live?” “Well, after my dad died, she moved from Potomac to an apartment complex in Laurel, and she also took a job at the NSA.” “When was that?” “Dad died in nineteen ninety-two, and she started at NSA in nineteen ninety-four after selling the house I grew up in.” She seemed to be getting impatient, so I said, “I am sorry if I am asking too many questions. I was surprised that I was notified of your mother’s ing, after all these years. Why did your mother want us to meet?” “Well, Mom said she knew you a long time ago in Saigon. I had always thought she was in the military but she told me more recently that she worked for the CIA and that she knew you then. When I was younger I tried to get her to tell me who my father was, but she would not say much. She and my grandmother said that my biological father died in the war. Brandy sounded angry as she continued. “However, when I was little, I overheard them argue about something in which I thought they said my biological father was still alive. After mom married, her husband adopted me and I always thought of him as my father. Mom was not home very much, but Dad and Grandma spent a lot of time with me. When I asked where she was, I did not get answers, although sometime I would receive postcards from strange places. However, several years ago, I came across some memorabilia and I found proof that she was lying to me about my biological father. It made me angry and we fought over this. Then after Dad died, she told me she was a CIA operative and that she worked with you in Vietnam. To hear that she was a CIA operative made me even angrier. Another secret she kept from me, but it explained why she was never home. I want to know if you are my biological father, and I want to know if you and my mother were seeing each other behind my father’s back.”

I had to let this sink in before I could respond. “Well, if I am your biological father, I never knew it. Your mother and I have not seen each other since nineteen sixty-seven. I tried to her in sixty-eight and again in eightyseven, but we never connected. Tell me your birth date.” “It’s May the tenth, nineteen sixty-eight. I will be thirty-six,” she responded. I did the quick math in my head and it hit me that she really could be my biological daughter. “Wow! I could be…,” was about all I could get out before she interjected. “You mean you never knew?” “No I did not!” “Why would my mother not tell you?” I shrugged and held up my hands. “I do not know.” I suppose that in the back of my mind I thought that this news was possible. Yet I found it to be shocking nonetheless. I was feeling strong emotions, and I was trying not to show it in front of Brandy. The problem was that I was feeling a mix of emotions that I needed to understand and come to with. I was sad that Donna had ed away. I was disappointed that I was unable to see her again, yet I was pleased and happy that she ed me. I wondered if Donna and Brandy had a happy life together. Brandy sounded angry with her mother and with me. I felt guilty that I was not there for her, and at the same time I felt slighted that I was not told I had a daughter. I was anxious, perhaps fearful, as to what was going to happen next. Who needed to know about this? How would they react? Was Brandy here to serve her mother’s interests, or her own? Did she want something from me? I tried to collect myself and appear in control, but inside I was shaken. “Brandy when you called last week, you said your mother had something she wanted me to have. What is it?” “She wanted me to give you this envelope.”

20 DONNA’S LETTER

Brandy handed me a sealed envelope with my full name neatly printed on the front. She then answered the question I was about to ask. “Mom said you should open it now in my presence.” “Okay I will,” I said as I began to unseal the envelope. I was nervous with anticipation. My hands shook as I removed the letter and began to read. I hoped Brandy did not notice.

****

Dear Peter,

I asked Brandy to be sure you received this letter. I told her that I hoped she would deliver it in person so she could also meet you and talk with you, but it was her choice. Although I have addressed this letter to you, I wanted her to see it as well. If Brandy is there with you now, you already know that I have ed away. I have been fighting ovarian cancer for several months now. However, there is no longer any hope and the end is near. I am writing this to you because I owe you an explanation about why I was not responsive to your attempts to see me over the years. After I returned home, I learned that I was pregnant. When I exchanged Christmas cards with you in December, I knew, but had not accepted the reality of it until I saw a doctor after the holidays. Your card and note told me you were happy, your wife had given birth, and you were going to finish your MBA and start a wonderful career. I also learned that you turned down an offer a year later that the CIA made to you, and

went with IBM instead. In retrospect, I think you did the correct thing for yourself and your family. Let me get right to the point. Brandy is your daughter. I made a conscious decision not to tell you and to keep that from you. I wanted to protect you and your family. You seemed so happy and that was all I wished for you; I did not want to destroy what you had. My mom and dad took care of Brandy until she was five, so that I could do what I did. They knew about my USAID job but not about what I did for the CIA. During those five years, I thought of you often. I ed how you comforted me after what I had done on that Friday. I have had to re-live that experience a few times, and I want you to know that I never stopped feeling something afterwards. Unfortunately, the only people I had to talk with afterwards were jaded CIA operatives. I could not confide or get emotional from my mother. However, I was able to take comfort when I thought of you and what you said to me that night, and later that weekend. Brandy was five when I married John Wolf. She probably re being the flower girl at the wedding. Just so you know, your name was never on the original birth certificate, and when I married John, we legally adopted Brandy and changed her name to Wolf. John’s wife had died and he had a son, Daniel. Daniel was a couple of years older than Brandy. He left home to go to college and then he moved to California. John was tolerant of my travels and understood I could not tell him too much about my work. He was a good father to Brandy, and I relied on that. He suffered his first heart attack in 1987 and ed away four years later. Brandy and I both missed him. Without John to help out, I put in for a more normal job at Langley, and then transferred to NSA, where Brandy now works. You should also know that after John died I looked you up (The Internet made it easy). I saw that you had remarried, so I let it go. Our timing was always off. Now back to Brandy. I wanted Brandy to know you, the real you. Of course, Brandy knew that John was not her biological father, and she often asked who her father really was. My mom would say it did not matter because her father had died in the Vietnam War. My mother’s attitude was that any married man who would get her daughter pregnant was no good. Nor did my mom approve of my traveling as much as I did instead of being home to take care of Brandy. I fear that some of this attitude was projected onto Brandy when they talked.

When Brandy was about seven years old, we were at my mom’s house, and I had an argument with my mom about whether Brandy should be forced to attend Sunday school. I wanted Brandy to have a say. Mom did not. The argument got loud. Mom reminded me that I had an affair with a married man and that I had left her in charge of Brandy for five years because I was never home. She did not want me and John to undo all of the good she had done for Brandy. Then she suggested that maybe the reason I had not been home was because I was still seeing you on the side. I did not know that Brandy had overheard the argument until years later, but it must have made an impression. As she grew older, Brandy continued to ask about her ‘real’ father, about what I did in the war, and why I traveled so much. I could not tell her the truth. I repeated the lies about you having died and about what I did for a living, until when she was home after John had his heart attack. She was rummaging through my things, found your letters, and caught me in the lie. She was very upset with me. She blamed me for having an affair and for lying to her. I tried to explain, but then I think it upset her even more to think that I loved someone other than John. Then she said that Grandma was right and told me what she had heard. Brandy was pregnant, and she told me she was not going to do to her child what I did to her. (Yes, I was a grandma at 46.) All of this was happening in 1987 around the time when I received your letter. It was not a good time. I apologize for being so brief in my delayed response to your letter, but I hope you will understand after reading this. My falling out with Brandy lasted until recently. She now knows I worked as a CIA operative, and why I was not home as much as we would have liked. I have apologized for not telling her the truth about you. I asked her to forgive me, but I think she deserves more. I want her to know what really happened, and that despite the circumstance she was conceived out of love, not lust. I want her to know that you did not take advantage of me as my mother believed. I know you never felt this way, but I always felt that if anything, I had taken advantage of you, not the other way around. I want Brandy to know the real you, the person I loved. As you , before we left Saigon together, we had already understood that we were probably not meant to be together, and may not even see each other again, but we made a promise that we would always each other. You knew that Dona Rice was not my real name and you told me that you wanted to stay in touch and know that I was happy. You asked if you could send a

Christmas card. When we parted at the airport in Hong Kong, I we both had tears in our eyes and we repeated our promises to each other, and I slipped my address and real name into your pocket, (A breach in protocol). Peter I kept my promise. I always ed you. Every day when I looked at Brandy, I ed. She even has some of your features. You told me that you had no regrets about what we did, and you did not want me to have any either. You gave me Brandy. She’s the best gift I ever received. I have no regrets. Please help Brandy to understand and fill in the details of what happened in Saigon as you see fit. I always trusted your judgement.

Goodbye. I loved you both.

Donna

P.S. I know that you were trained to be skeptical, and Brandy often felt I had deceived her, so I am adding the following to what I wrote yesterday. Peter I think you know that you were the only man I was with back then; but, If either of you have any doubts about your biological relationship, consider a DNA test. Just in case the question comes up, Brandy has no legal claims to anything of yours, or vice versa. Whether you let others know of your relationship, I must leave that entirely up to the two of you to work out.

P.S.S. I decided to make an extra copy of this letter so you could both have it.

****

After I finished reading the letter, I could no longer hide my emotions, and I am

sure that Brandy took notice. “Brandy please excuse me for a few minutes, I need to use the restroom.” As I got up from the table, I pushed her copy over to her and said, “I think you should read the letter. We can talk when I return.” I washed my face with cold water, and took a few relaxing breaths before returning. When I returned, Brandy looked up at me. “Peter, are you all right?” “Yes, please excuse me. This is sudden, and the memories are bringing forth many emotions. However, I want to tell you everything you need to know. “I wanted to know if you loved each other, and why you stopped seeing each other. I think I know the answer to that.” Her tone sounded almost like she was hoping for a different result. “I think she loved you, but I do not see how you could have loved her.” Before I could respond, she continued. “Peter, I read through the letter quickly. I do not understand what Mom meant when she said, ‘I ed how you comforted me after what I had done on that Friday. I have had to re-live that experience a few times, and I always felt something afterwards.’ Was Mom referring to having had sex with you and then other men later?” “What?…No…Of course not!” “What then?” I could see the consternation in her face. I looked straight at her and calmly told her, “Brandy, your Mom had just taken a life. It was the first time, and she was upset.” “Peter, I knew that Mom was a CIA operative. Is she telling us that she became a trained assassin and killed multiple times?” I sensed some agitation. “Brandy, it was self-defense. She had no choice. Your mother was concerned about having to kill someone again in the future. I told her that if she did and she did not feel anything, she may as well be dead herself. She would never have become a trained assassin.” “So then what?” she said excitedly. “Are you telling me that you took advantage of her when she was upset and you comforted her by having sex with her?”

“No. I am telling you that I did not take advantage of her.” I remained calm. “It was not like that. Your mother and I already had strong feelings for each other.” “Peter, I know I should calm down, but I am having a hard time with this.” “Well, I guess that makes two of us. Brandy, we have been here for two hours and your kids and husband are probably wondering where you are. You probably need to get going, but I think that you and I should talk more. I would like us to meet again it you are willing.” “I don’t need to be anywhere. I’m in no rush. I only have a teenage son; I am divorced…I have something else I want you to see. I brought a large envelope with Mom’s memorabilia. Do you have time to have a look?” “Sure, what have you got?” She reached into the envelope, pulled out a picture, and handed it to me. “Is this my mother with the motor bike? The print says April nineteen sixty-seven on the back.” I smiled and said, “Your mother loved that bike. She gave me many rides on the back. I took the picture. I mailed it to her in May after returning to New York, before I knew I would be going back to Saigon later in the year. Of course, she had to part with the bike when she left in August. What else is in here?” She had a picture of me and the two Christmas cards, and the note I sent in eighty seven. She even had the menu from La Paix. I smiled when I saw it. Donna also had kept a picture of herself when she was pregnant and one of Brandy when she was a baby. I smiled again and said, “Brandy you were a beautiful baby.” Brandy then asked, “Do you want to keep all of this memorabilia?” I looked directly at her and replied, “I think you should keep it. I think your mother would have wanted you to have it.” It was my view that continuity from generation to generation is very important, and seemed to be lacking in today’s NOW culture. I felt like giving her a father to daughter lecture on the subject, but restrained myself. I continued, “Perhaps you came here to hear what I had to say and close the book on your mother and move on. However, your mother said she wanted you to know me because she wanted you to know her better. I think you should know

her better as well. She apologized to you and asked for your forgiveness. I think it is important that you forgive her and her in a good way. She tried to protect you, not just me. Her work was difficult both technically and emotionally. I want you to know that I am willing to spend as much time as you need to understand what happened in nineteen sixty-seven and why we were together. I would like us to meet again. I think your mother would want that. By the way, I told my wife Carol about my affair with your mother. She says she is okay with it because it did not happen on her watch. We have been married for almost fourteen years now and I have always been faithful. Of course, she does not know you are my daughter, but I feel like I will need to tell her. I hope you are okay with that.” “That’s fine.” “Before we part, I need to ask a favor of you. It is very important to me. Would you mind if I visit your mother’s grave? I would like to say goodbye to her. Is she buried anywhere nearby?” “Well, I suppose you are entitled to that,” she responded. “The cemetery is nearby.” Then Brandy provided me with the details on where her mother was buried, and how to get there. “I will plan to be there next Sunday afternoon at one o’clock, unless that conflicts with others that may visit.” “Not a problem. That would be fine.”

21 THE CEMETERY

I had brought Carol up to speed after my meeting with Brandy last week. I told her that Brandy was my biological daughter. I even let her read the letter from Donna. I told her about the mixed emotions I was feeling. A bit of sadness, some regrets that we were not together, a bit of happiness to know that I was ed, a bit of comfort that a nice young lady had been brought into the world that gave meaning to Donna’s life, and a bit of angst not knowing where any of this was heading in the future. Carol understood my need to go to the cemetery, and was ive of me. She asked if Brandy was going to be there and I said I did not know. I hoped she would want to know more and appreciate her mother more, but that would be up to her. I just wanted to say goodbye and have some closure. I arrived at 1:00 PM that Sunday. It was a beautiful spring day. The sun was out and the temperature was in the low 70s. In Maryland, spring brings out blossoms on many different trees including Cherry, Crab Apple, Bradford Pear, and Red Buds. Sometimes they are all in bloom at once. This seemed to be one of those times. The cemetery was about a forty-five minute drive for me. It was off Route 355 just north of Bethesda. It took a while, but I managed to find Donna’s grave marker. It was in a family plot. Her mother and father were buried there, as was her brother Brian. I looked around but could not find a marker for John Wolf. Donna’s head stone said,

Donna Wolf nee Cinelli 1942 – 2004 She served her Country

As I paid my respects, a good feeling came over me. I became lost in my thoughts, ing all of the good things I could about Donna. I was thinking about the life she must have had, so different from mine, when I heard a voice behind and to my right. It was Brandy and she had someone with her. “Peter, I would like you to meet my son, Brian.” They both were finely dressed. Perhaps they had been to church I thought. Brian was tall, thin, and good-looking. He looked to be about 16 or 17 years old, consistent with what Donna had said in her letter. Brandy said, “This is Mister Troutman, he knew your grandmother.” “Hello Brian, I am pleased to meet you.” Then he asked, “How did you know Grandma?” “I worked with your Grandma many years ago in Saigon.” “Where?” He asked. “Vietnam,” I said. “Haven’t you learned about the Vietnam war in school?” “No. Were you and my grandma in the war?” “Perhaps sometime I could tell you about it.” “Okay.” After quickly paying his respects by placing some flowers on his grandmother’s grave, he told his mom he would come back in about a half hour. As we watched him take off, Brandy said, “Brian recently got a driver’s license and I let him drive me. He volunteered to pick something up for me at a nearby store.” “Brian is a fine looking young man.” Your mother had a brother named Brian,” I said as I gestured toward the grave marker. “Yes, Mom was pleased that I named him after her brother.” “You must have been rather young when you had Brian. How were you able to manage?”

“After I graduated from high school I went to the University of Maryland for a year before I got pregnant with Brian. My husband and Grandma gave me enough that I could work and eventually get an associate degree at the community college. I guess to be fair, Mom helped as well. Getting pregnant before I got my associate degree was not the wisest thing I ever did. However, I made a decision that I was going to be at home for Brian as much as possible. About eight years ago, Mom helped me to get the job at NSA. The NSA paid for me to finish my education and get a bachelor degree.” Then she changed the subject. “Peter, tell me something about you. According to Mom, you had a child in nineteen sixty-seven. Do you have other children? What about grandchildren? Mom said you were about her age, but you do not look that old.” “Well thanks for the compliment about my age but I was born in nineteen fortytwo, so what your mother told you is true. Yes, I have two daughters within a year of your age, and my current wife Carol has three children. We have seven grandchildren between us and there may be more to come. My oldest grandchild is twelve.” I was pleased that she was beginning to show some interest in me but I saved a lot for future conversations. Then I changed the subject. “You are dressed up. Did you come here from church?” “Yes we did.” “Your mother and I went to a Catholic Church in Saigon. We talked about religion. Are you Catholic?” “No, we are not. We are Protestant. My grandmother was a devout Catholic and I my grandmother being very upset with Mom because she did not force me to go to a Catholic church. When we moved in with Dad, we began to go to a Methodist church. When I was about ten, Mom explained that it was important to have God in my life but she wanted me to learn about different religions so that when I got older, I could decide on what church I wanted to attend for myself.” I looked straight at Brandy and said, “I am pleased to hear this. Your mom had issues with the feelings of guilt and unworthiness bestowed on her by the Catholic Church. I told her that I was going to expose my kids to multiple

religions, and give them a say. She told me she thought that was a good idea, and wished that she had been given that opportunity when she was growing up.” I found myself looking at the gravestones again. “Your mom talked to me about your grandparents when I was with her. She said your grandpa had a construction business. According to the gravestone, he died in nineteen seventysix. You must have been about eight. You lived with them, the first five years of your life. Were you close? Do you it?” “Grandpa was nice to me but he was not home a lot. I was much closer to Grandma. Grandma allowed me to see the coffin at the service, but it was closed. I coming here to the cemetery with Mom and watching the coffin lowered into the ground. I asked Grandma how he died, but she would not tell me. Later Mom said he was murdered, but they never found the person that did it.” “Wow, that must have been tough!” Then after a pause, “Did you know that I twice spoke to your grandma briefly on the telephone? The first time would have been the Christmas after you were born. Your mom was not home; I do not think she ever got the message. The second time was back in eighty-seven when I was trying to locate your mom. All your grandma would give me was a post office box number where I could mail a letter to your mother, which I did. You have that letter in your memorabilia box. I was hoping to see your mother again, but it did not work out. I see that your grandma ed away in nineteen ninety-six. She was not that old, only seventy-six. May I ask how she died?” “Grandma died of cancer, after a long battle. I guess it is what I have to look forward to.” “No! Brandy, you cannot think that way.” Brandy sat with me for a few moments in silence, and then said, “I have given more thought to our meeting and to Mom’s letter. I know I need to be able to forgive you and Mom. It is hard to reverse feelings that have built up over many years. I do not know if I can, but I need to try. I want to understand you and Mom better.” She looked at me and said, “Peter, you are different than what I originally expected. Would you help me to better understand?” I looked at her and nodded yes. “Brandy, I do not want to intrude on your lives, but I would like to know you and Brian better as well.”

Meanwhile I noticed that Brian had returned. “Brian is back, but I could come here again next Sunday.” “Yes, I would appreciate that.” Brandy and I continued to stay in touch and meet now and then at the cemetery or at a coffee shop. It could never become a normal father-daughter relationship but I believe that over time we became friends. Carol and I even had dinner with Brandy and Brian one evening. I enjoyed giving him a short history lesson on Vietnam. He was a nice kid. He went to college, became a lawyer, and is now living in California with a wife and two kids of his own. We exchange emails and greetings from time to time. Brandy still works at NSA. She does not talk about what she does. Did she ever fully come to with her mom and with me? I would like to think so, but only God will ever know for sure.

EPILOGUE

The Tet Offensive in Saigon began January 30, 1968, on the eve of Tet, the lunar New Year celebrated by Vietnamese. It was an all-out assault on multiple cities by the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong. To the best of my knowledge, North Vietnam began planning for the Tet Offensive in mid1967. A change in leadership in Hanoi was moving their tactics away from guerilla style warfare and toward a more conventional war with massive deployments of troops. Intelligence gathered by the US intelligence community in the South was aware of this change and its possible consequences. My understanding is that the CIA Station Chief in Saigon informed Washington of a possible Tet Offensive, but the politicians in Washington, including CIA headquarters, did not want to hear it. The Tet Offensive was reportedly a surprise, but the intelligence was there; it should not have been a surprise. To remain politically in favor, the military leaders and the Johnson istration especially, had deceived the American public into thinking that the war was being won. Our government could not publicly acknowledge threats like that of a Tet Offensive. The strength of the enemy was consistently under reported and enemy losses over reported. Prior to the Tet Offensive, it was politically forbidden to send troops into Laos, Cambodia, or North Vietnam, places where the North Vietnamese army was staged for the Tet invasions. Decisions were made at a high level based on politics. Clearly, the PEN project did not prevent the Tet Offensive. However, I would like to think that the advanced intelligence may have helped prepare our troops to defend the cities under attack. Although the Tet Offensive cost us politically, the US and ARVN troops did win the battles militarily. Many people question if American involvement in Vietnam had any positive effect. After the Viet Minh and Ho Chi Minh defeated the French “Colonialists” in 1954, the United Nations created the separation into North and South Vietnam. The United Nations intended the separation to be temporary, and called for national elections by 1956. If these elections had taken place, most experts believe that unification would have occurred then, rather than twenty years later after much bloodshed.

According to the Pentagon Papers, the fear of South Vietnam becoming part of a communist country was the reason why the US did not national elections after the French left. According to the war’s critics, the fear of communism was the reason to fabricate the Gulf Of Tonkin incident. It was the reason we poured in USAID money and troops to stop unification. It was why we were driven to do some unconscionable things to the peasants in the South in the name of “pacification.” It is not surprising that those in favor of unification called the war “The American War.” Although many of the war’s critics blamed the US military, I do not. Our military men (and some women) fought bravely for our country. They fought for the values of democracy, capitalism, and human rights. However, they were bound to follow orders and policies handed down by politicians and bureaucrats. Militarily we could have won. Politically and strategically, we lost. Was the war worth it? Between 1.5 and 3.5 million people died in the war effort. One-half million were civilians. Many of these civilians were massacred because their political ideology differed from ours, or because our ideology differed from theirs. To stop the bloodshed, the US signed the Paris Peace Accords in January 1973 and we removed all of our troops by the end of March 1973. By this time, I believe that the South Vietnamese had become too dependent on us militarily and economically to adapt to the sudden change. Two years later on April 30 1975, the North Vietnamese entered Saigon and took control of the entire country. Although he did not live to see it, Ho Chi Minh had achieved his dream of a unified communist country. At about the same time, the capital of Laos fell to the communist Pathet Lao and the capital of Cambodia fell to the communist Khmer Rouge. The Khmer Rouge was responsible for slaughter that was even more ruthless. Initially after the unification, the Vietnamese people and the Vietnamese economy suffered. Between 1975 and 1986, there was strict communist rule. The Communists interned an estimated one million people who did not favor the outcome for the purpose of “reeducation.” They forced others to give up their homes and their livelihoods. The sudden pull out of the United States, and the loss of aid it afforded, also hurt the economy. On the other hand, our efforts may have been worth it long-term. The Khmer Rouge was removed from power in 1979, and the organization no longer existed at the end of the 1990s. The Cambodian government is now a constitutional

monarchy with a two house elected legislature. Laos is a more restricted socialist republic, but they now have a constitution that protects many human rights. Vietnam has evolved significantly since 1975. The long-term consequences of Vietnam’s unification may be much better than we anticipated. After 1986, things began to improve in Vietnam. The country initiated political, constitutional, and economic reforms. Most of the interned people were released back into society, and the people were given a constitution. The latest version assures equal and fundamental rights to all citizens. These rights include freedom of religion, freedom of movement and residence, freedoms of the press (up to a point), and many other individual freedoms. Now please understand. I am a capitalist through and through. I also believe in democracy and individual human rights. Vietnam is a socialistic or communist country to be sure, but it is nothing like North Korea. North Korea never reunited with South Korea. North Korea is a dictatorship that has nuclear weapons and suppresses its people. The people are poor, and many are starving or interned. On the other hand, Vietnam is a unified peace loving country. Although a socialist country, people are generally happy and have an acceptable standard of living. Although considered a communist country, Vietnam is governed by a National Assembly consisting of 498 representatives elected by the people. All branches of government are under the authority of the National Assembly, and the National Assembly selects and approves all government officials. The single political party (the Communist) has influence. Most Americans would not choose this type of government. However, for Vietnam, it seems to work. Perhaps the influence of French values and then American values made a difference and had a positive influence on the Vietnam that has evolved. If so, our involvement may have been worth it. Due to economic reforms implemented by the National Assembly, economic growth especially in the cities, has taken off. Vietnam is now a significant trading partner with Western nations. The government allows private ownership and foreign investment. Saigon, now called Ho Chi Minh City, has changed dramatically. The city has physically expanded in all directions. Areas that were sparsely populated in 1967 are densely populated now. New skyscrapers abound. Ho Chi Minh City, as well as Hanoi and other cities in Vietnam, have become tourist meccas. In Ho Chi Minh City, tourists can stay at the Continental, Caravelle, Majestic, and at the Rex. These historic hotels and others have been renovated, and most have been enlarged. In addition, there are many new hotels

at various degrees of luxury and price. The Brinks is gone, and replaced with a modern Park-Hyatt. The Eden Building, the cafés, press offices, and apartments across from the Continental Hotel were razed in 2010. In their place is a modern shopping and office complex. The Notre Dame Cathedral and the Assembly Building are still historical landmarks. The American Embassy and the MACV headquarters newly built in 1967 are gone. I believe La Paix is gone, although the name has been replicated in other cities. Most of the street names have changed. Tu Do is now Dong Khoi (with superscripts over the o letters). Traffic is still a horrendous problem. What became of the old MACV headquarters building on 137 Pasteur Street? Pasteur Street is still Pasteur Street and the building at 137 Pasteur is still there. I heard the building is now painted pink. Was our “war” worth it? I cannot help but ask, “What if.” If the election had taken place in 1956 or if we had not been there, how would things be now? Vietnam did not turn out to be the type of communist country that we feared in 1956. I would like to believe that the American presence had a long-term positive effect. In the words of the Dalai Lama XIV:

“To remain indifferent to the challenges we face is indefensible. If the goal is noble, whether or not it is realized within our lifetime is largely irrelevant. What we must do therefore is to strive and persevere and never give up.”

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

While the story is fiction, the backdrop of 1960s Saigon is real. I want to thank those who provided insights and help during the writing and ensuing reviews of the manuscript. I specifically want to recognize the following individuals:

• Bruce T. Eisenhut, Esq. He provided the most extensive review and challenge to my writing skills. • Dan E. Feltham. His book “When Big Blue Went to War” provided valuable insights into the role of IBM in South Vietnam. • Phil Gallagher, retired NSA analyst. As you would expect, I cannot repeat what he told me. • Colonel Thomas Genetti, USA Ret. He was a Ranger and a helicopter pilot who saw action twice in Saigon and lived to tell about it. • Lt. Colonel Richard J Giddings, USAF Ret. He was a supply officer housed in a corner room on the third floor of the Continental Palace in 1965. • Dr. Robert Dale Headrick, who served as an army Captain. He reviewed an early draft and pointed out many deficiencies, including my juxtaposition of French Colonial and armyColonel. • Kenneth P. Moorefield, Deputy Inspector General DOD. He served in Saigon between 1967 and 1975 as a military officer and in of the US Embassy. The “Ambassador” described the ambience and uniqueness of the “Shelf” restaurant and bar at The Continental Palace. • Dr. Thuy Nguyen. She grew up in Cholon, gave me a quick language lesson, and inspired me to write the Epilogue. I also want to acknowledge everyone, both military and non-military, who rose

to the challenge and acted on behalf of those values of capitalism, democracy, and individual choice that made our country great. Finally, I want to thank my wife Jean, not only for her help with proofreading, but also for her understanding my need to write this.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Peter Eisenhut is a graduate of Cornell University and the University of Rochester. His expertise is in the fields of engineering, operations analysis, and business. He is retired from the IBM Corporation and from his own telecommunications consulting business. He lives with his wife Jean in Columbia, Maryland, where they live a happy and normal life. They have nine grandkids between them. While well versed in publishing technical papers and writing business reports, proposals, and contracts, this is his first novel.