Page 109 of Cry Havoc

“I don’t know. I think she just wants to be left alone. She wants the war to end.”

“Part of it is good for business,” Serrano said. “Rebuilding will be good for business too.”

“She has plans to relocate to Bangkok when she takes over.”

“Regardless of if Saigon falls?”

“I think so.”

Tom exhaled a plume of smoke and flicked the ash into an ashtray on the table.

“Nick, I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

Serrano smiled knowingly.

“Everyone says that when they start, Tom. You have feelings for her. I get it. I saw it the moment you met her in the hallway outside my office.”

“Is that why you picked me to go to dinner at the plantation and not Quinn?”

“One of you was going to take care of Amiuh. Quinn recruited him, so that made him the natural choice to complete that mission. And, to answer your question, it helps us that you and Ella have feelings for each other.”

“Helps us?”

“Yes. The Agency. The country.”

“And you.”

“Well, yes, but only by default. We are still courting Gaston, but he finally made his position clear at dinner: he’s a businessman.”

Tom extinguished his cigarette.

“Ella is about to be a major player,” Serrano said. “She knows I am going to ask you about her and her father’s business dealings. She’s not naïve.”

“I still feel guilty.”

“That’s good, Tom. It means you are human. I’d worry about you if you didn’t feel that way.”

“When can I get back to Phu Bai?”

“Let this play out a little while longer. Gaston will keep playing both sides, especially after Tet. Now, instead of turning him, we need to focus on identifying his Soviet contact and compromise his communications. That prospect might even be more valuable.”

“Not sure how much longer I can lie to Ella.”

“Don’t look at it as lying. It’s not. I can tell your feelings are true. And never forget that in any situation where feelings and alliances are at play, the other party might be playing you as well. Do you have any plans to see Gaston again?”

“We are meeting him for lunch later this week at Cercle Sportif Saïgonnais.”

“Cercle Sportif on Rue Chasseloup-Laubat,” Serrano said.

“You know it?”

“Of course. It is the place to see and be seen for Saigon’s elite; kind of a who’s who for the city and visiting dignitaries. Gaston is a member. It started as a fencing, horse racing, and shooting club in the late 1800s. It’s grown into a country club that rivals anything the Brits have in Hong Kong or Singapore; ten tennis courts you can watch from the dining room, a soccer pitch, and a main building with a library and reading room, a dance hall, fencing rooms, and a billiard hall. Their open-air pool and diving board are probably the biggest draw. The ambassador frequents it. You will see Vietnamese politicians, military officers, and a lot of the same crowd you see at the Continental Shelf. Did you ever try their signature drink?”

“Sure did. It packs a punch.”

“That it does. Listen, Tom, I am sorry to have put you in this position. I promise to get you back to your team in Phu Bai as soon as I can. We need you on this right now.”

“For God and country,” Tom said, not believing for a second that what he said was the truth.