Nguyen let his Chinese version of a soup spoon settle into his bowl of traditional Korean soup. The sounds penetrating the thin walls assured that no listening devices, if planted and that didn’t seem remotely possible, would hear nothing.
“When I stopped by your apartment in San Clemente to drop off the nativity scene I spoke with Mary for some time. She is the woman you described so often. She gave me your telephone number but that number’s been turned off since you moved. She also gave me a number for a man named Matt, so I called him. I had nowhere else to turn. When I called Matt he couldn’t help me with immigration or with getting me on a flight home but he did get me a flight on a military plane to Yongsan airport here in downtown Seoul.”
My mind began to whirl. Matt, with no seeming authority and not having a clue about my relationship with Nguyen arranged for a Military Air Command flight from one American base to another. It was a wonderful thing for him to do but seemed totally out of character when it came to the nature of the organization I was now working for. If anything, I thought, the fact that my newly invented companies, if they got off the ground, would help so many people outside of working to get agents in and out of countries unidentified, might just make the people making the decisions at higher levels not support the whole operation. I was having to rethink the CIA as I went and that wasn’t proving to be a straightforward pursuit.
“A M.A.T.s flight,” I mused, more to myself than to Nguyen. Why fly Nguyen home on commercial, with the expense and all that entailed, if I could put him on a military flight like Matt had?
“Two flights,” Nguyen corrected. The first long one was to Osan and then a helicopter to Yongsan.
To put Nguyen on a flight to the States I’d need to get him to Osan. I didn’t know much about Yongsan but I did know that large aircraft didn’t fly in or out of it because its runway was too small. The whole base was about the size of Central Park on Manhattan Island in New York. Osan was another forty miles away, and hence the helicopter. However, the likelihood that a plane was headed the right way to bring Nguyen to me in Seoul and then a helicopter, just by luck was there at Osan to bring him down to Yongsan, was a little too much to process, or even believe. My Korea ‘mission’ was turning out to be one where I just kept learning more while I was understanding less.
Once again, I felt the need to talk to my wife. I was getting out on a diving board and working on the difficulty of my coming dive while trying not to notice that there could well be no water in the pool I was about to dive into. We needed a fax machine, I realized, the thought coming out of nowhere. The time change was killing my ability to communicate with home, not to mention all those listening in to our conversations whom I had little or no idea of. Fax transmissions turned letters and words into abbreviated codes like court stenographers used but much more complex. I could fax at any hour in any place I was, as long as that place had a fax machine. Most high-class hotels should have those machines but I wasn’t at all sure about that. It was useless reflecting on that need until I was home again, however.
I explained my plan to Nguyen. He listened silently.
“You may have your money back,” was his only comment, as he reached for his backpack.
“No, military flights can take you anywhere, not necessarily where you want to go or end up. You may need the money if they dump you somewhere odd.
“Need a blanket, flights are cold,” Nguyen said, “and water and pillow.”
I smiled. Military flights could be very bare bones when it came to amenities, I understood.
“Pillow? Are you getting soft?”
“Yes,” Nguyen answered without a delay and without a smile back.
“We’ll see what we can find along the way. Let’s figure out how to get to the Yongsan Army base.
Nguyen preceded me out of the little room. Neither of us had gotten back to the soup, which was amazingly good but the timing was all off. The decision to head for Yongsan right away was made without much any discussion. It made all the sense in the world to get Nguyen out of the country as quickly as possible. For some reason, the expressed attitude at the embassy had seemed to indicate that there was some suspicion about him. Were the suspicious security men somehow involved with that? There was no way to answer that question with what either of us knew. Nguyen wasn’t CIA, not even close. Making him an asset to get the new green cards was an artifice, although, although it might not turn out that way. A bunch of stuff was going to have to be moved around to several countries. Things like the new-fangled fax machines and dedicated telephones couldn’t be shipped unaccompanied in a world where those innovations were sought after by almost everyone in sometimes the most nefarious of ways.
Ho wasn’t standing ‘guarding’ the door, as he’d indicated when we’d gone inside the little room and that was odd. Despite only knowing the man for such a short time I’d gotten the impression he was not only tickled to death to work for so much money doing almost nothing but he was strangely developing a sense of loyalty and real interest in me and what I might be doing.
We found Ho outside, just beyond the busy sidewalk, the tuk-tuk he sat in, engine running, was doing its tuk-tuk sound thing.
“We are being followed and you must get in,” he said, no humor in his voice, as he gently revved the tiny engine.
I pushed Nguyen onto the back bench seat before jumping in myself, as Ho took off, veering almost immediately down a narrow alley filled with tables and people selling all manner of things. I looked behind us as we went but could see nothing that looked anything like a tail…and in fact, was beginning to wonder why we would care if something actually was following us.
“There,” Ho yelled, crossing a regular street, while horns honked all over the place. “Itawan, see the car,” Ho pointed his left hand out through the tuk-tuk’s open side.
I caught a glimpse of a black sedan, modern, not one of the small Korean things that almost everyone drove around Seoul, if not on a bike, cycle, or in a tuk-tuk. Ho dived us into the mouth of another alley, nearly colliding with several cycles all trying to fit into the same space.
“They tracking from alley to alley,” he yelled back over his shoulder, which made me wonder why we were continuing the way we were going, but I held on for dear life as the tuk-tuk bounced, swayed, and occasionally bounced off a table corner or sometimes a person who didn’t get out of the way fast enough.
I leaned forward to tell Ho to stop the tuk-tuk, as quite possibly remaining in the middle of one of the crowded alleys would made the car less effective in trying to follow us. As I leaned forward a piece of bamboo embedded itself in the back of Ho’s seat. I grabbed the bamboo with my left hand, in total surprise. What was a piece of bamboo doing stuck into the back of Ho’s seat, I wondered at first, before coming nearly instantly to the right conclusion.
“Faster Ho,” I said, right into his right ear, holding on to the shaft of the arrow for balance as the tuk-tuk careened. I looked out the back of the vehicle but could see nothing except a sea of people folding back together after parting to allow the tuk-tuk through.
Nguyen leaned toward me, his head close to mine as he examined the arrow.
“Pheasant feathers,” he said. Koreans are the world’s best archers,” he said, giving me no comfort at all.
If the arrow had struck one of us, the way it was deeply embedded into the back of Ho’s thick seat, either Nguyen or I would likely be dead or very badly injured. The message that came with the arrow was not one of communication or warning. However, was following us was playing for keeps. I grabbed the handle located in the center of the back bench seat with my left hand and hung on while I reached up, unsnapped, and then let the .45 fall into my right hand. There was a round in the chamber, as always. I flicked off the safety although the sound of the tuk-tuk’s engine and passage through the crowd didn’t allow me to hear its distinctive click.
Ho sped across the last street that fronted the Han River, the river that ran a serpentine track through Seoul’s very center, exiting the huge city at the ocean within a few yards of the border to North Korea.
Without stopping or slowing down the tuk-tuk shot across the street, barely being missed by about twenty motorcycles and three or four small Korean cars. The tuk-tuk went straight out onto the top of a very long wooden pier, the slats of wood set perpendicular to its length just wide enough to accommodate the tuk-tuk’s rear wheels.
Ho did not slow down. I hadn’t even thought to look for the car following us as I was paying full attention to throwing myself out of the tuk-tuk if it went into the river. I could see only one small skiff-like boat at the end.
Finally, Ho stopped the tuk-tuk and jumped out.
“My uncle, water taxi,” he said, his excitement and fear making his bad English worse.
I turned to look back up the pier to the shore but there appeared to be no one there or even paying attention to the tuk-tuk’s wild ride or its final destination.
My Colt was in my hand, which I held close to my right thigh. Nothing and no one was acting in any threatening way in the distance much less anyone that might need shooting. I eased the weapon back up into its cross-draw holster and buttoned my coat. There was no sense scaring Ho even more or his uncle, much less revealing things I didn’t want to be revealed.
“Where?” Ho asked, stepping from the side of the still-running tuk-tuk to the edge of the pier where his uncle stood.
“U.S. Embassy,” I said, immediately, as I figured Nguyen and I would be among friendlies who could get us to the Army base.
“Yes, on river,” Ho said, with a big smile. “I will tell him.”
Ho spoke for a good minute while I looked around for anyone who might have an interest in us but could see no one. The arrow had upset me to the point where I walked over to the tuk-tuk, leaned down, and worked to pull the arrow from the back of Ho’s seat.
The bamboo wasn’t really thick, maybe about the same as a fountain pen and I didn’t doubt the three parts of feathers were from a pheasant. The head of the arrow wasn’t what I expected though. It wasn’t an exotic many-bladed hunting head, as I’d seen in sporting goods stores back in the States. It was merely round and sharp-pointed, as it if was a target arrowhead. I decided to take it with us, as a reminder never to let my guard down in a foreign environment.
We climbed aboard the boat. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my last twenty-dollar bill and handed it to Ho, who disappeared it instantly into his shirt pocket.
“Not in front of my uncle,” he whispered, before stepping back
“I see you at hotel,” he said, waving as his uncle eased us away from the pier and then out into the main current of the river, which was moving fast.
There were reasons why there were so few boats on the river I realized, and the current was probably one of them.
The forward part of the taxi was lined with curved benches along the side bulkheads, which were only about two feet off the water. The air felt good passing by, warm but not fetid and hot like it had been deeper into the interior of the city itself.
Nguyen pushed down my left shoulder. “We rest, like in the jungle,” he said, his dark eyes as deep and serious as they’d been back in the valley. I caught his meaning from that expression and laid down flat on the bottom of the boat. He took up a position next to me.
No one was going to see us from the shore, nor from any other boats that might be in the area, and no arrows were going to find us. I examined the arrow while we lay there until Nguyen took it from my hands and examined it for himself.
“No point,” he finally said, handing it back to me. “Only a small hole where point should be. Do not touch.”
I examined the tip of the arrow more carefully, before tossing it out over the port gunnel of the fast-moving little craft. Poison? Who would use such an arcane and easily detectable means of coming against either myself or Nguyen? It, along with a whole lot of other things, was a complete unknown. Were all my future missions going to be conducted with so much missing from any advanced material? It was disappointing to lay in the bottom of the boat, staring up into a beautiful cloud-studded sky, and think such thoughts. The CIA had already demonstrated extraordinary power, an ability to back huge operational costs and even apply a sense of civic responsibility and care…so what were the leaders sending people like me out to the field really thinking?
The boat began to slow dramatically. Both Nguyen and I peered out over the upper edge of the port gunnel. We were coming in but there was no pier to use in getting off the small craft.
“No pier on base,” Ho’s supposed uncle said, cupping his hands, as the boat veered into the shore with no guidance on its tiller. With a jolt the taxi stopped, its stern being pushed into a weedy mud bank by the strong current.
“Base?” I said to Nguyen, but he remained expressionless.
I’d asked to be taken as close to the embassy as possible, or at least I presumed that was the message Ho had given to his uncle.
Nguyen got up, put one foot on the top edge nosed into the shore, and jumped. I positioned myself to do the same, except with the advantage provided by Nguyen turning back to extend his right hand. I jumped and he caught me, which helped keep my balance on landing but didn’t keep my feet from sinking six inches deep, or so, into the soft gooey mud. I staggered back and up to get my balance, the boat already making its way out toward the center of the huge flowing river. I’d not offered to pay or been expected to. I shook my head as I followed Nguyen inland, through the banyan-like trees and low jungle bracken. It was like being back in the valley except the sun, although making it hot, was nothing as bad as the heat and humidity at the bottom of that hell.
A chain-link fence rose up out of the mess we were plodding through, festooned with signs every few yards that read “No Trespassing. US Army Property.” The fence wasn’t more than shoulder high and there was no barbed wire across the top links, much less concertina. The base was one of very low security.
“I wonder how many Koreans know what trespass means?” I said to myself when we were both over the top of the fence and walking toward a concrete structure not very far away.
The building was low but huge but there was a Jeep parked near the far corner. The ground had become more solid, so the walking was easier. How I was going to be able to enter the embassy as the sweaty muddy creature I’d become in such a short period I didn’t know. The bottom of the boat had been wet, as well, so I was hot, soaked, emitting a nasty aroma, and miserable. Nguyen had to be in similar shape but said nothing.
An Army sergeant came out of the building through a door near where the Jeep sat unattended.
“You two look like hell,” he said, although smiling while he said words. “You know, the base has a front gate.”
I reached into my pocket and took out my wallet. I showed him my military I.D. card and he promptly came to attention and saluted. I nodded back as Marines don’t salute unless wearing a cover outdoors or bearing arms while inside. That made me think about the .45 inside my coat, which might be a liability if anybody found out about it on the base, Wearing a coat at all was also likely to make me look suspicious, although I had no choice unless I could conceal the Colt in some other way.
“We need to get to the U.S. embassy, sergeant,” I said, looking over at his Jeep.
“It’s only about half a mile or so up this road,” he replied, getting into the vehicle and hitting the ignition button. The Jeep fired up and sat idling.
“It’s on the base?” I asked, in complete surprise, never thinking for a moment that any embassy would be located on a military base.
“Since right after the war, but they’re going to move it soon. Hop in, sir, and I’ll give you two a ride.”
I thought for a moment. Somehow, through another strange twist of fate, Nguyen and I were standing on the base we wanted to get to and we no longer needed to risk anything by going to the embassy at all. When I’d come to the embassy earlier there’d been no gate entered, just the building sticking out on the road. It was a strange setup, but then everything was proving to be strange to me that I ran into.
“What about the M.A.T.’s office?” I asked, climbing into the Jeep’s passenger seat, while Nguyen clambered in over into the back storage area.
“Hangar, you mean,” the sergeant replied, putting the Jeep in gear and taking off up the road. “That’s about half a mile to the airstrip. This isn’t a terminal so there’s just one Staff Sergeant for that. Maybe he’s there and maybe he’s not.”
The Jeep raced along, and the passing air felt good. It wasn’t going to be enough to dry my clothing but then I wasn’t planning on seeing anyone of rank like would have happened at the embassy.
The hangar was a normal-looking post-war thing, made like a Quonset hut but much larger. The sergeant drove into the large cavern exposed by giant vertical doors that looked like they were never closed.
“You’re in luck, that’s him,” the sergeant said, driving right up to a man sitting at a desk next to a Sea Knight helicopter.
I thanked the sergeant as Nguyen and I got out of the vehicle. The sergeant didn’t reply, instead putting the Jeep in reverse and backing out of the building. His expression, although friendly, left me with the distinct feeling that he wanted nothing to do with whatever we were.
“You would be?” the staff sergeant said, not getting up.
I took out my I.D. card once again and showed it to him.
The staff sergeant didn’t get up.
“What can I do for you, sir?” he asked, in a tentative way.
“A few days ago, this man flew in on one of your choppers,” I said, pointing over at Nguyen. He has a green card and I need him to get to Osan and from there a flight back to the States, west coast if possible.”
“Yes, I recall that event, sir?”
Once again, I noted the delay before the noncom used the word, Sir.
I ignored the deliberate but nearly unidentifiable slight. I stood, putting my I.D. back into my wallet and then my wet wallet back into my wet trouser pocket. The mission had everything to do with getting Nguyen home and nothing to do with killing the sergeant in front of me. I breathed deeply in and out, trying to bring myself back from the valley where the man’s attitude was trying to send me.
“Authorization?” he finally said, losing the sir altogether.
I looked down at the desk in front of the man. I took a government pen from an old cigar box that appeared to be full of them.
“Paper?” I asked, with a fake smile.
“Certainly, sir,” he replied with his own fake smile, shoving a table toward me.
I wrote briefly and the paper and gave it back, replacing the pen in the box after doing so.
“Call the number, assuming that phone here can connect, and then, when asked if the person answering can be of help, read that second number,” I replied, keeping control of my voice as best as I could.
“Washington D.C. area code,” he noted with new interest. “You Department of State, FBI, DEA, or something like that?”
“CIA,” I replied. If he called the number then he’d know right away anyway. I was tired, a physical and mental mess, and my patience was wearing way too thin to put up with nasty idiots. I fought to remain calm and accomplish the mission.
“Chopper to Osan coming right up, sir,” the staff sergeant said, his snotty attitude gone as if it’d never been there in the first place. I’ll get him on the Hawaii flight, stopover for twenty-four, and then on to Whidby Island in Washington State. After that, in CONUS, he’s on his own, but I presume that’s okay with you, sir?” the staff sergeant stood up and saluted, holding his hand to his forehead and waiting for some response.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Everything was going to be alright. Nguyen was going home. Why my wife hadn’t told me anything about his calling I now understood. I hadn’t given her any opportunity. When was I ever going to learn to listen better and more often than I talked? Tom Thorkelson and Chuck Bartok had taught me better. Maybe the CIA could do a better job getting me to work with whatever talents I had instead of just letting or making me run out into the field on my own.
I turned to face Nguyen.
“You’re on your way,” I said, my relief nearly overcoming me. I’d saved one of my men. Maybe just one, but it meant everything to me
“Forget about the money,” I blurted out for no reason I could think and immediately wished I hadn’t said it.
“No,” Nguyen replied. I repay you with what Mary has.”
“What?” I asked, not understanding at all. “You gave my wife money?”
“The Nativity set. The weights in the bottoms of the pieces are not lead.”
Jim,
Ref your comment response of working on “The Cat Book II”, really looking forward to that. Also “The Sand”, though for me, “The Sand” is a very good Sci Fi story, I find “The Cat” more engaging, with the interaction of humans and animals and especially the growth, understanding and acceptance of the ‘humans’. Though I doubt their “understanding/acceptance” of the lion and beaver is any more than what today’s humans would have – Lucky are those that have that type relationships with their companions as well as those of the wild. Reminds me of a recent story of a women living in western New York, laden with a Black Bear population, who occasionally gets visits to her back deck, while she is on it, of a bear who climbs on the deck, sits down on the deck fence bench like a dog, and seemingly listens to her and has some type of ‘conversation’ with her. (No – The bear doesn’t talk, sadly. But the level of trust between the two – amazing. Would love to know what the bear says to his buddies later on – “Yeah, hung out with the human again on her back deck. Today she talked about her lazy butt kids saying they don’t visit as often because they’re afraid of the bears! I mean us! Can you believe it?”) Just another example of my ’80/20′ split of preferring animals over humans. (Yes, I know – There may be some folks that disagree with my ’80/20′ split, maybe a bunch, but frankly my dear … See below for a version of my reply to them. To be honest, it wouldn’t be so ‘soft spoken’.)
So, a one time “employee/physicist in one of the tech areas of
Los Alamos labs”? When did you find time to eat and make ‘little Strauss’?
And, “My book called “Down in the Valley” is first time I refer to actually
alien (as in alien beings or culture) equipment discovered”? Great – Somehow missed that. Another reason for a re-read. Come on, give me a hint – At least first, second or third volume.
“learning more while understanding less?” There was a time when I wondered at what age would I be when the opposite would be true. At a later point in time I realized that would never happen, and that constantly gets reinforced. So much to learn while trying to understand it. But at least in this specific instance, I grew out of my ‘F___ed up and Stupid’ phase. Unfortunately, in too many instances, not so much.
Interesting comment about who the “Black Car” was following – you or Nguyen. I bet on you being the pin cushion target. Future chapter?
Ditto on your reply “That the sergeant didn’t call the number I gave him was also a statement.” about this not being his ‘first rodeo’ (See my initial comment of the day – night – early morning — Whatever.) and how those 3 initials could/would/can change a situation dramatically.
“‘Saving’ Nguyen was a mission all of its own and one that I could never have backed down from.” Not “backing down from”, for you, wasn’t really unexpected from what I’ve read and learned about you. The fact that this “mission” even occurred and all the background that had to happen for you to even hook up in SK was unexpected. Part of a/the ‘test’? I know – Future chapter. Then again, trying to bring folks up to speed over life events over 50 years ago is best done in the order they happen – So for all of us who want the whole story, right now – I’ll say it for you – ‘Shut up, sit down, I’m gettin’ there’ (This is in reference to my ’80/20′ split from above. At least that’s what I would say.
Regards my friend,
Doug
Talk about heavy duty, my friend Danko. I will have to reread this entry several times in order to take it all in.
Your confessions are heartbreaking and the fact that life has not always been kind to you is expected but still revealing.
PTSD rewards by incurring one to fear and unfriendly humans, many times of our own family connection. They don’t know.
They know not what they do. Love you brother…and thanks for this terrific and moving comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,
I know – A day (OK – More than a day.) late & a dollar short.
Another great read. Again, still many questions on Nguyen – How did he get to the US? Who did he work for? Just ‘by accident’ did he ‘find’ Mary or was he ‘directed’? I know – Will come out in future chapters, like it did for you in times of yore.
Ref the Sgt at the hanger, did you ever give him a “response” or did you just leave his salute hanging? His response to you saying “CIA” indicates this wasn’t his first rodeo & he’d been giving instructions reference to anyone using the initials, such as – “Stop whatever you’re doing, including doing a self, emergency appendectomy, (Again, love ‘spell check’.) and give 100% of your respect and attention to get whatever they need, no questions asked.” Magic letters those.
Again, too many coincidents with Nguyen, but … some time later, I’ll relate my experience of what ‘had’ to happen, in what order, etc for me to get a puppy back to their rightful companion (Who also got some needed, unasked for, advice. Gently of course.), including me intentionally slowing down to catch a ‘red light’ so I could finish my cigarette, other people’s assistance, etc. Not a ‘Nguyen’, but I imagine the puppy would say otherwise. And got some gold as well, not physical, but the kind I find to be the best kind.
Again, some great comments too!
Sincere regards my friend,
Doug
You are almost in a league of your own when it comes to deeply personal reactions and comments about the work…and you, yourself.
Thanks for this and what a pleasure to read what you write here. I do call and harangue you from time to time, and I find that
a pleasing experience. Thanks for allowing that.
Your friend, and
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow, poisoned tip arrows. Had you not leaned forward could this saga have ended there? .What entity would send 2 guys with primitive weapons after you? Each chapter adds a new twist left unresolved. Great read!
Thanks for the great comment and the compliment at the end Phil. I’m writing the next chapter this minute
so it sure helps on providing motivation.
Semper fi,
Jim
Hope you saved some of that gold, Jim. Worth about $35/T oz then, over $2,400/T oz now!
Agree with Mr. Flynn – fast-paced (and true!) spy-type stories are big deals.
Craig, as I recall, gold had gone from a set price of $35 a few years earlier, after we came out from under the gold standard. The price jumped amazingling as Nixon left office to about $250 and then $300 nearly overnight. Flynn is a good guy to agree with, by the way, much like yourself in that he’s a terrific guy. Thanks for the compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Excellent !!! Can’t wait to read more !! Thanks so much 🙏
Thanks for the great public compliment Tim!
Semper fi,
Jim
Keep writing James! I’ve read up on everything you put on Facebook, went back and re-read all 3 volumes of 30 Days Has September, and am halfway through Vol 1 of Cowardly Lion!
I love re-reading and catching up on where you are now! It’s a delight to refresh again and again, brings it alive in my mind!
No author could ask for more than a comment and series of compliments like you have just written Bruce,
and I thank you most sincerely…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great chapter you had to have one hell of an interesting life thanks for sharing LT.
Thank you Pat for the neat compliment and for writing it on here where all the other readers can see.
Semper fi,
Jim
Great as always, read many different stories, loved them all, and can’t wait to see more chapters of The Cat.
Thanks George. I am working on Book II of the First Cat as this is written. I too love that story.
Semper fi, and thanks for the compliment.
Jim
LT, learning more while understanding less? Great line and absolutely true in your first super not so secret mission. At least a good thing accomplished trying to send Nguyen home. I’m sure we will hear more about him along with your family in future stories. Wonder who could have flung the poison arrow. An action chapter, loved it.
Thank you JT, much appreciate the compliments. The line was the truth about those days.
Learning the ropes of the Agency as well as accommodating such different cultural norms and laguage
was just he beginning of getting good at that kind of work.
Semper fi,
Jim
So many questions have been answered but then so many remain. I presume that Nguyen initially came to the USA as a post-war refugee and did not sneak into our country illegally. Why then would they not renew his green card. If he was on a student visa he would not have been the first person who overstayed their visa.
Now, I have to try to find the book where he gives the Nativity scene to Mary. Maybe something he said at that time foreshadows what he says this time about the money.
Was the black car following you or Nguyen? If it was the people in the black car and not some random act of violence, why were they were trying to kill one of you with poison arrows?
I hope that we have not seen the last of Nguyen.
Some of the mysteries that don’t get resolved in these volumes are unresolved because I don’t imagine
a resolution if I never got one. Korea was not a ‘random act of violence’ kind of place in those days.
As a culture the Korean experience is one of dealing with infernally clever and truly hard-working. men and
women. When you to there, if you should, the level of development there since starting with rubble after
the Korean war is unbelievable.
Semper fi,
Jim
You are taking me down a memory lane. I was in Korea in 1962-63, stationed at Osan, things were a little more primitive then. I was 18 yrs old and frequently drove the “crackerbox” ambulance to the big Army hospital in Seoul. It was not as developed then, as it was in your narrative. There were rare Korean made little autos. Most civilian vehicles were rebodied Jeeps and other repurposed military trucks. Still a lot of motorcycles and bikes. Two lane roads with no shoulder, even then, it was not unusual to pass a truck broke down in the middle of the road. with the driver laid down under the vehicle with his legs sticking out into the road. I never got back to Korea, but your account has served as a substitute.
Will we ever find out more about the “Artifact”?
In a later volume of TCL you will discover that I become an employee/physicist in one of the tech areas of
Los Alamos labs. That’s a roundabout way of responding to your question about the artifact. I always considered the
artifact to be.a natural substance although almost a substance from another unimaginable dimension. I no longer feel that
way as you will come to read one day in the future. My book called “Down in the Valley” is first time I refer to actually
alien (as in alien beings or culture) equipment discovered, although most readers feel the book is a work of total fiction. It isn’t. Thanks for the comment and sharing your own experience over there.
Semper fi,
Jim
Fast-paced, interesting, organized – great chapter! Amazing how little things fell into place to get Nguyen to you, then back to CONUS. And damn good work by Matt. Is he perhaps more than he seemed originally?
You draw a vivid picture of the two of you coming onto base from the river – lucky that sergeant didn’t take you to the brig. And the second sergeant sure changed attitude quickly at the magic letters.
Not sure what exactly Nguyen was doing in Korea, sure seemed to be more than a green card!
Back on Terra Firma, your pal enroute to the airbase – and now to write some policies for the Korean security guys. Keeping you busy, but who knows yet for what purpose – keeping us in suspense for the next chapter.
Craig Wilcox, my friend…I could not write life policies in Korea as there was no American company at that time that could
sell insurance there without registration, which neither Bankers nor Mass Mutual had.
Nguyen was always more than he seemed, as I tried to prove that I was worth his kind of loyalty.
Landing on the mud outside of the ridiculous ‘non-security’ fence was something else again.
Only to arrive on a base that wasn’t really a military base at all.
It was, more or less, the functionary property upon which the embassy was built, as well as the most successful military PX in the world.
That the sergeant didn’t call the number I gave him was also a statement.
Thanks for the usual brilliance of your commenting and the continuing compliment of the writing.
Your friend,
Jim
A very interesting first CIA mission. It would seem that running in to Nguyen was preplanned by your new employers and your handling was possibly a test of your adaptability under stress and working with minimum information as to what to expect in a foreign environment. Tough schooling. Imagine Nguyen will be about in the future to keep an eye on your safety.
Edward…the CIA, I came to find, needed brilliance in the field. They had little communiction at the time of which they could use to
direct field operations so they were looking for those who would actually do things to accomplish a mission. I knew none of that at
the point we are at in the story. A later control officer would tell me the truth. He said that training could nt be conducted for all
the 195 countries where agents might be sent, as all the language, customs and process in foreign countries was not only foreign and different, it
was dangerous. Trained for the wrong thing was worse than not trained at all. Interesting thought process.
Semper fi,
Jim
“The Nativity set. The weights in the bottoms of the pieces are not lead.”
Oh boy who would’ve know about that !!??
Great job getting him out of there 😉
Another cliff hanger James, keep ’em coming !!
Semper Fi
Who would have known?
I did recall that the pieces were heavier than I thought they needed to be when I set up the display that Christmas.
It would never have occurred to me to check to see what was making them so heavy.
‘Saving’ Nguyen was a mission all of its own and one that I could never have backed down from.
I still feel good about what happened there and what I was able to do…and some in the Agency allowed me to do.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
“Making him an asset to get the new green cards was an artifice, although, although it might not turn out that way.” (One too many “although”)
“The message that came with the arrow was not one of communication or warning. However, was following us was playing for keeps. ” (Confuing – did you leave out a word/words “Whoever/whomever? “not playing for keeps?” Seems as though they were.)
“Certainly, sir,” he replied with his own fake smile, shoving a table toward me.” (He shoced a “table” toward you? Did you men to say “tablet”)
Another great conclusion immediately made me want to read the next chapter!
Thanks for the help with the editing Tim. Need all I can get.Thanks as well for the nice compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim
WHOA NELLIE!
Jim,
Lots of meat in this chapter to digest. Some new meat and some old, aged meat that i have been waiting to taste. More twists and turns than a roller coaster.
Who was arrow meant for? If Nguyen…why?
THE WALTER DUKE. Great question from Walter Duke who always posits great questions and comes to psychic conclusions.
Thanks and k’m not answering the question on this part of the site. You will have to read on. I will say here that the error hit precisely what it was aimed at. Thanks for the depth of you interest and you intelligent consideration of each and every bit of nuance in the story.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
This read was like watching a James Bond movie, wait your name is James!! Your writing is awesome, you got my heart racing during tuk tuk ride. Keep up the fantastic work and keep those chapters a coming. Thank you…….sir Semper fi.
Thanks for the editing help Bob as well as the neat compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim
assured that no listening devices, if planted and that didn’t seem remotely possible, would hear nothing. double negative – remove the first “no”.
why we would care if something actually was following us – Why would we care if someone was following us
However, was following us was playing for keeps – Whoever was following us was playing for keeps
Thanks for the editing help here Matt.
Semper fi,
Jim
Better than anything Hollywood can come up with. Reality is indeed stranger than fiction!🙏
There is little question that reality can sometimes overwhelm imagination with its abrupt and stunning truths.
That all this stuff, as written in the Cowardly Lion series, really happened as written is frankly not truly believable and I understand that.
Maybe someday when more is revealed I will get credit for what I’ve written but I don’t expect that to happen in my lifetime.
Thanks for the reading and the believing.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks for the heads up on Thirty days and this chapter. Your life is unbelievable, You are truely a GREAT man, Thank you for your service and your books, God is watching over you
Great compliment, and I sure hope God’s ears are close by to your lips…so to speak.
I am a Christian although I have no church as I can’t get along with priests and preachers. For me the relationship must be
direct as I don’t believe God truly has designated (usually self) down here to guide us in His way. I really like the eastern religions a lot, as they are generally so passively peaceful. Some religions are not understandable to me (like Mormonism…even though Tom Thorkelson, a great friend is a bishop!).
Semper fi,
Jim
James LT Junior When a higher power than us brings a plan together that we don’t even know the workings of, we can be grateful and Blessed. The weights in the nativity are not lead. For time eternal, there have been efforts to turn lead to Au Looks like Nguyen knows the secret.
God Bless Stay Safe Sir Salute !!
I should have known about the Nativity Scene. Gold is nearly twice as heavy as lead,
and the pieces, especially the animal pieces, were way too heavy to be any kind of normally weighted
plus they weren’t just weighted at the base like chess pieces are. More, of course, about this in the coming
chapter.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, you are giving Tom Clancey a run for his money!
Jim Flynn…my friend.
Your help is making all this happen and your words remain indelible in my mind as I write on into a dark night where I don’t know where I’m going but certainly know where I’ve been.
That Clancy was a life insurance agent that got onto a subbase allows for him to access knowledge nobody
else had at the timed is now legend.
President Reagan was his rabbi.
You are my rabbi.
And so I plunk on the keys into the story and the meaning and depth of life itself.
Not all will get what the messages are, but I have no fear that you are doing so…and I thank you for that and hope to live up to your expectations.
Semper fi, my great friend,
Jim
Great writing sir a very deft piece of literary craftsmanship
how are we to believe poison arrows helicopters taking a man to the states on a military vehicle and all the other extraordinary things expressed in this fine piece of writing
it is kind of like explaining the holy Trinity to a nonbeliever knowing you and knowing you so well I know that every word you write and speak is true if sometimes the names are hidden to protect the guilty but it really is a tale of intrigue and I asked myself I don’t think the CIA sent you all the way to Korea and untrained buffoon at this point you spend a lot of time chasing down a friend from the valley so there is something that has yet to be revealed and I suspect that will be revealed soon also money in an nativity set isn’t that sort of a Ludlum spy Craft type project?
well it certainly is captivating the intention this is one of the few times I wish the whole book was there so you could just read the next chapter but I know you like to tease us and keep on drawing us back so that we can write comments about your brilliant writing which are very well-deserved
I learned to listen to Lori a long time ago and thank God I did and I know you feel the same way about Mary just keep writing James God gave you the gift for a reason
Once more, a reference to God, from a man who is one of the most true believers I’ve ever met.
I too was raised and school to be a Catholic, all the way through undergraduate school at St. Norberts,
so I appreciate the association with such a man, although I fell away from Catholicisms many years back.
Thanks Richard, for your usual display of written complexity, compliments and sharing your own hard-earned
truths. A fell traveler…
Semper fi, my friend,
Ji
Nguyen is indeed Royalty! W e seem to place all displaced people in the same bin. But amongst the hoard there are people of all castes. One leaves hereditary home usually take their valuables. We have been inso many legacy disrupting wars that we don’t see any of those treasures appear any more!
Also I feel the liberty of living outside the wire and wonder of possibilities!
Hard to realize we are tethered!
Uuraagh
Jim Homan, the Colonel of my life (I don’t consider my old battalion commander to be one of those!). It’s always interesting to read what you write on here and always the words as they are assembled give me pause for thought. Living outside the wire, that’s in enemy territory and being tethered…hmmm what does that really mean? I have to think some more.
Thanks, as usual for the compliment of your reading my works, your writing about them and your presence in my life.
Semper f, my great friend,
Jim
Another crazy romp in Korea. Having been there I am not surprised, of course I was not in your shoes!
That you were there at all Chris, speaks volumes. I am so happy to have shared and reached you in some way.
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow! That got a bit exciting!
But what was Nguyen doing in Korea in the first place? Was he deported once his green card expired?
Read on Monty and the mystery of Nguyen’s being in Korea will be resolved.
Much appreciate you paying such attention to detail. Back then there were all
kinds of people living in the U.S. with expired cards so why was there special
attention paid to his situation. Well, if you live in the U.S., at least in those
times, nobody was really checking much at all. But, even in those times, if you left the
country and tried to come back on an expired card you were toast and were not going to
get a renewal either.
Semper fi,
Jim
The weights are not lead!!!! How much would an ounce of gold be worth back when this happened? These chapters never cease to amaze me. You have a special gift from God when it comes to writing James.
I have a special gift from God…but the writing is second to the readership of my works.
I never expected so many erudite, intelligent and caring mean and women to rise up out of humanity’s mass and give me such
great satisfaction.
Thank you God for giving these people to me.
Semper fi and God bless you!
Jim
Great final hook! That first paragraph needs a little more clarity. Do you realize that many times your writing is a stream of consciousness? A modern James Joyce…What a tangled web we weave when we first practice to deceive!
James Joyce is quite a compliment. I’m sorry that I didn’t write more clearly in the first paragraph.
I can always do better, I know. I just put it out on paper every week as best I can.
Semper fi,
Jim
You are getting really good with the teasers at the end of the chapters. Another great read. Thanks.
Well John, I don’t work at the ‘teasers’ as they just seem to be good places to break the work into acceptable
chapter length. Thanks for the complimentary way you put that.
Semper fi,
Jim