Meanwhile, deep in the west wing, Civilai had chuckled and hmm’d and ahah’d through thirty minutes of Senator Vogal eulogizing himself to heaven and back. Ethel Chin was always at the senator’s side. From this close proximity it was clear why she had joined the senator in isolation. The stress of events at the Friendship, or perhaps just the unpleasantness of being in such a nasty place, had brought her lower face out in hives. She’d pasted a layer of make-up over it but the damage to her skin was plain to see. She sat at the desk purportedly reading a book but with such lack of commitment as to look up with a laugh at all the senator’s jokes. Not a minute into the meeting, Civilai had become the American’s best friend. The senator had already shared two tearful “not even my family knows this” moments.
On the rare occasion that Civilai was allowed a few seconds to respond to a question, he did so with a respect and humility that made Peach’s nostrils flare. After exactly twenty-eight minutes, there came a knock on the door and Rhyme entered with his flash unit attached to a cumbersome hunk of equipment and he took several photos of the elder statesmen in conversation. Ironically, in the photos, the senator appeared to be listening intently to Civilai’s thoughts. Rhyme’s departure was clearly designed to be the end of the dialogue. Vogal stood at the door bidding farewell and nodding at Civilai who remained seated. Peach stood then sat down again. Ethel Chin rolled her eyes. Reluctantly, the senator closed the door, locked it, and returned to his perch on the end of the bed, making a pointed study of his wristwatch. It wasn’t as if he had somewhere to go. Civilai decided it was time to probe.
“Peach,” he smiled, “ask the senator what type of family it takes to produce such a noble and intelligent son.”
“Do I have to?”
“Please.”
The senator beamed when he heard the question and settled happily into the role of interviewee.
“All my people are in tea,” he said. “Importing originally from Ceylon. My family are the business brains. My Uncle Edwin and I were the black sheep. We had our hearts set on public service. Money just didn’t seem too important to me. My focus was on removing evil from the world and replacing it-and I know this sounds corny-but replacing it with a little love and humility. I believe we owe it to the world, not just to take, but….”
This drivel went on for another two minutes before the subject eventually found its way home.
“It was my Uncle Edwin who introduced me to the foreign service and for that I shall be eternally indebted to him. God rest his soul. He was a great man.”
“So you were in the foreign service?” Civilai asked. “I knew it. I just knew it.”
“How?”
“Your confidence. Your way with words. The way that the common people just naturally relate to you.”
Peach’s eyes had rolled so many times they should technically have been on the other side of the room by now. But Civilai urged her onward.
“It’s true,” said the senator. “I do feel a great deal of love from the little people. I guess that’s what spurred me forward when times were hard.”
“We could have used skills like yours in this region.”
“Oh, I was here, of course.”
“You were?”
“Didn’t you know?”
“No.”
“Goodness me, yes. I was in Vietnam during the war. If I hadn’t been so valuable at the embassy I would have enlisted. As it turned out I took over the role of my Uncle Edwin. I was in Saigon for two years. Just a small administrative position.”
“He was in Saigon for two years,” said Dtui, reading her notes about Major Potter. “He was the military attache there. It seems he did a lot of the hiring and firing of advisors. Pretty powerful. But it appears his drinking habit started over there too. Looks like he couldn’t handle the pressure.”
“Wasn’t Sergeant Johnson in Saigon?” Daeng asked.
Dtui went back over her notes on the original CVs.
“He was there from sixty-five to sixty-eight.”
“And Major Potter?”
“Sixty-six to sixty-eight.”
“If they knew each other they didn’t say,” said Daeng.
“I imagine the place was overcrowded with men in uniform,” said Siri. “It’s possible they didn’t run into each other.”
“Another coincidence, though,” said Phosy.
“And if Potter was doing all the hiring and firing, and Johnson was applying for a pilot position, you’d think they’d at least have heard of each other,” Siri added.
Auntie Bpoo emerged from the bathroom at last and Siri noticed Dr. Yamaguchi squeeze her hand as she passed. No accounting for taste.
“That’s it for Potter,” said Dtui. “We just have a few words about Senator Bowry. It seems the war was good to him, too. He’d been struggling with a little family import business, teak furniture from Asia mostly. A lot from Thailand. Then in the late sixties I guess the teak business took off. Made a lot of money. He invested his profits in real estate and the next thing you know he’s stinking rich. He used his money to get into politics.”
“That was certainly a meteoric rise from embassy clerk to senator in the space of ten years,” said Civilai. “How did you achieve that?”
“Not a clerk, exactly-senior administrator, more like. I admit I had some pull. And those were war years. Crazy times.”
“
“A man of a certain … stature could rise through the ranks back then,” Vogal continued. “It’s not so easy now. I had an excellent track record, clearly defined political goals and a respected family name.”
“
“So, you were a senior administrator at the embassy…?”
“I was dealing mostly with the movement of personnel.” The senator remembered his watch. It was barely eight.
“Of course, Saigon.” Civilai nodded knowingly. “I imagine everything was open and above board there. No shady dealings whatsoever.”
“We did our best to maintain a certain transparency, it’s true.”
“Not like in Laos then.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m afraid you Americans weren’t quite as transparent over here. In fact, I’m tempted to say your money was responsible for buying and selling several coalition governments that didn’t suit your fancy.”
A US Republican senator in a locked room. Civilai felt a warm glow. The senator’s smile was as fake as a Giaconda with blonde highlights. He took up a tone of syrupy condescension.
“Oh, Mr. Civilai,” he said. “You have to remember that you were in an information cocoon here in the wilds of Laos. You couldn’t possibly know just how much good the US was doing for your country. It’s common knowledge to anyone outside of Red Indochina that the vast majority of our budget for Laos was spent on aid.”
Civilai laughed, which caused the senator’s brow to rise and his wispy comb-over to flop across his field of vision.
“The vast majority of your budget went on B-52s and ordnance,” said Civilai.
“A common misapprehension,” said Vogal without missing a beat. “But with all due respect, Mr. Civilai, you can’t honestly believe your own propaganda machine.”
“Then let’s look at the statistics. Perhaps we can believe the US embassy budget release for the fiscal year 1970, just as an example. I have a copy in my room if you’d care to see it.”
“How could…?”
“Your total expenditure in Laos for that year was $284 million….”
“It-”
