more a position than a role. He smiled and nodded and left all the details to his minions. He sat opposite the Sumo- in-sundress head of the American delegation, Representative Elizabeth Scribner, Democrat, Rhode Island. Selected for this mission presumably because of her bulk, Mrs. Scribner was not a smiling, all-friendly politician. In fact, one would have to assume she was elected to congress as a result of intimidation.
Siri, still with no idea why he’d been called for, listened to the minister’s address with its pompous language, then to the reading of the early communications between the Chief of Mission of the United States consulate in Vientiane and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Pathet Lao Government. Saigon had fallen to the Vietminh in April of 1975, and the Pathet Lao claimed the prize of Vientiane eight months later during a well-orchestrated handover. Being good sports, they invited the US consulate to remain in operation, insisting only on the removal of CIA personnel. That left a grand total of six, all confined to Vientiane with the odd trip across the Mekhong for shopping in Nong Kai or other pleasures in Bangkok. The US State Department had attempted to sneak in one or two spooks as cleaning staff or bookkeepers but the PL had a comprehensive list of the names and backgrounds of CIA operatives provided by the very resourceful Soviets. Apart from a little housekeeping, the remaining consulate staff were an ornamental lot. They had nothing much else to do but send memos to the PL. No consulate personnel had been allowed to travel around Laos. The US aid agency-USAID-compound had been closed and its employees hustled onto flights out of the country. So only a few dozen US citizens officially remained. Some were teaching, or married to Lao citizens, or working for the Quakers or Mennonites.
According to the communications, it appeared that a year earlier the consulate had made a request that they be allowed to investigate claims of US citizens held in captivity in Lao prisoner-of-war camps. The Lao had pointed out that following a unilateral program referred to as Homecoming, all known military and political prisoners in Laos and Vietnam had been handed back to their delegations. They added that the war was over and there was absolutely no point in hanging on to them anyway. But the Missing In Action-MIA-lobby in the US was strong and evidence was constantly mat erializing to indicate that there were indeed American ex-servicemen on Lao soil. In a number of memos, the PL had reminded the consulate that, according to US policy following the Treaty of Geneva in 1962, there were no American military on Lao soil to begin with. As there were officially no ground troops or US air force personnel active in Laos, with tongues in cheeks the PL had asked how these MIAs had been clumsy enough to find their ways into prisoner-of-war camps in the middle of a neutral country. The notes back and forth appeared to have reached a stalemate.
As they were unable to travel and had no permission to investigate MIA claims, the US embassy in Bangkok invited Lao citizens to bring evidence of downed aircraft and/or remains of airmen to their Vientiane consulate where officials would check their veracity. There were rumors, none confirmed, that they were offering cash rewards for genuine finds. They could never have envisaged what a stampede this would produce. The queues extended around the block. Citizens had gone to great lengths to secure laissez-passers to travel to the capital to present their souvenirs. Others sent packages through the unreliable post with details of where to forward the checks. One clerk from the Central Identification Laboratory in Bangkok was responsible for sifting through a mountain of bones-most of them from pigs-and teeth: some from elderly relatives who hadn’t quite finished with them. There were dog tags fashioned out of beer bottle tops and photographs of Uncle Dtoom who was albino but from the right angle looked just like an American airman. One hopeful claimant sent the front fender of an old Ford which he swore had fallen from the sky whilst he was working in his paddy.
Despite their obvious inauthenticity, all of the claims had to be labeled and documented. The site of a supposed discovery was marked on a map and after six months there were more crosses on that map than were military personnel active in the US armed forces. It was as if every village in Laos had its own downed airman. Yet, in all that time, not one positive identification was made and the program was abandoned. The Washington lobby was not amused so the US embassy in Bangkok moved on to its Plan B, to arrange for joint US/Lao teams to go off into the countryside to investigate claims in a professional manner.
All these recommendations were read out in painful detail during that long morning in Minister Bounchu’s meeting room. Each guest had his or her own bottle of syrupy green Fanta for refreshment, and bottomless cups of lukewarm tea were available. The Americans, unaccustomed as they were to Lao all-day meetings, drank thirstily. The Lao barely touched their drinks. After an hour and a half it became apparent why. There was a good deal of seat-shifting and leg-crossing from the American contingent and it was obvious that they were in need of a toilet break. Yet the seriousness of the day’s affairs called for strict adherence to protocol. Nobody wanted a gaffe of etiquette to stymie the talks. Being the first to go to the toilet could be seen as a sign of weakness. So they held it in. The cadre reading the reports had not yet reached March 1978. There were still four months of communications to go and faint smiles on the faces of the Lao delegation.
But after another half an hour Congresswoman Scribner had apparently reached her limit. She cleared her throat, nodded politely, and sighed before beginning a serious conversation with the interpreter, Peach. The Lao, unused to interruptions during official gatherings, looked at her in astonishment. Peach, well aware of the infringement, apologized several times before passing on the Congresswoman’s message.
“Congresswoman Scribner would like to point out that both sets of delegates already have copies of the various communications between the two sides,” she said, nervously. “She humbly suggests that, without further ado, we get to the point at hand.
The Americans wish to know whether the recommendation has been accepted. She….”
At this point, Peach blushed and everyone on the Lao side could tell they were due for another hiccup of protocol.
“Go on. Say it,” Siri urged her. “It can’t get any worse.”
All heads turned to Siri who smiled and shrugged. Peach continued.
“The congresswoman would like to remind the minister that the US consulate currently has a request for aid in the form of cash for the procurement of rice to stave off the effects of last year’s harvest failure. It was signed by both the prime minister and the president. The congresswoman would … would not like to think that such an important decision might be stalled by the lack of agreement over a small MIA request.”
The Lao present broke into a flurry of smiles but only Siri’s was genuine. Apart from reading his address, the minister had found little to do at this meeting but his moment had come.
“Little sister,” he said to Peach in a low, husky voice, “please tell the fat woman that she isn’t in Washington now. This is Laos. We’ll do things the way we do things. If she doesn’t like it, she can go home.”
And with that he gestured for the clerk to read on. The congresswoman came to the boil like a pressure cooker and continued to bubble throughout the remainder of the morning. It was almost lunchtime before the government’s response was read. The US delegates were bloated as dumplings, their leader visibly stewed. It was the vice-minister of defence who finally read the cabinet’s decision.
“The Central Committee and the Politburo of the People’s Democratic Republic of Laos have considered the request of the United States of America to conduct one single mission in the north of the country to search for a supposed downed airman. The Lao Subcommittee for Post Conflict Affairs is pleased to announce that your request has been accepted. A joint Lao/American task force will be dispatched to Xiang Khouang province in the northeast of Laos where an investigation will be conducted into the disappearance of civilian helicopter pilot Boyd H. Bowry. As per your description, Comrade Bowry apparently went missing in August 1968, whilst on a”-he cleared his throat as if the cough were written in the script-“‘humanitarian aid mission’ in the area around Long Cheng. After careful scrutiny, the subcommittee has approved eight of the fifteen names provided by your consulate, thus:
“Major Harold G. Potter-US Military, retired-as team leader;
“Dr. Donald Yamaguchi-forensic pathologist attached to the University of Hawaii;
“Sgt. John Johnson-United States Marine Corps attached to the United States consulate in Vientiane;
“Mr. Mack Gordon-second secretary of the United States Embassy in Bangkok;
“Mr. Randal Rhyme-journalist with
“Miss Peach Short-interpreter.
“These six may later be joined by Senator Ulysses Vogal the Third-United States Senator, Republican, South Carolina, and Miss Ethel Chin, secretary to the senator.
“The People’s Democratic Republic of Laos will be sending the following ten officials to work on an equal, counterpart basis with the United States team. Its members are….”
Siri listened to the reading of the list with little surprise. It was the type of cronyism he’d come to expect from his government. He recognized most of the names and their familial and professional connections to people in high places. The majority were incompetent or, at best, redundant. The only name that jumped out at him as being
