I stared at the two security men in their strange civilian, but severe attire, in shock.
How could I respond when there was no possibility of selling an American-based life insurance policy to citizens of another country without licenses or permissions? My device to remove the special agents, or whatever they were, backfired. Both men’s expressions had gone from dead flat as they’d been when I’d first run into them, and even only a few minutes earlier, to looks of kindly friendship and willing accommodation. Herbert waited on the phone if he was still there. I had to get rid of them, at least temporarily.
“Please wait in the lobby until I’m done here, and I’ll fill out your applications,” I said, pointing at a small cove-like area with some empty couches and a squat coffee table at its center.
I closed the door, not waiting to see what the men did.
“Can I fly my friend home to the States using the card?” I asked, wanting in the worst way to take care of Nguyen before doing anything else.
“That’s rich,” Herbert said, his tone acidic. ‘Your friend is supposed to be central to your business arrangements there, which bringing him here would be a blinking red light right there, and then his name coming up on a manifest and the card receipt would be a blinking neon red light to boot. The answer’s no. What else have you come up with before I send someone to retrieve you”
Thinking fast I decided to change course. “I need some cash. I didn’t bring much personal cash for incidentals, like tips and stuff.”
Herbert was silent for half a minute, before replying. “Go to the Bank of Korea and give your card to a teller. You can get a cash advance on that which will have to be repaid in thirty days.”
“How much can I get?” I asked, trying to figure out how much an economy ticket from Korea to the States might cost.
“Your new company will foot the bill for whatever you need,” Herbert replied, his voice taking on a rather derisive tone.
“No, I mean what’s my limit?”
“Just give the teller the card and tell her how much you want,” Herbert replied, speaking slowly like he was talking to a six-year-old. “They’ll only give you dollars, not won, so you’ll have to convert there or at an exchange. “If I’m getting this right, then you’ll need to take the won to the airport and convert it back to U.S. to fly on a U.S. carrier. U.S. carriers flying in and out of Kimpo don’t take foreign currency, and you don’t want to use a foreign carrier.”
I realized that Herbert was trying to help me without truly revealing that over a telephone call likely being recorded at both ends. I’d never discussed much of what happened down in the valley with him, nor ever mentioned Nguyen’s role in it. He was trying to help me help myself and then trust that I was doing the right thing. Herbert was the lone person in the CIA who was giving me the only verification I was receiving about the fact that I might have been right to throw in my lot with it.
“I’m forming three corporations,” I replied, getting back to the mission and what I needed. I explained the nature of the companies and then what it was going to take in my opinion.
“I’ll need offices in D.C. with clerical, communications, and salary for the Ambassador, who’ll be the CEO. He’ll need a residence, as well. I’ll need an office in Albuquerque for the sales and service operations and clerical there, as well. Finally, I’ll need three Lear jets, or so, with all that entails for the evacuation company, also initially based at Albuquerque’s airport.”
“Holy shit,” Herbert breathed into his receiver. “How long have you been there?”
I didn’t answer, having read the tone of his voice. I’d been afraid he’d go off on what the expenses of such an across-the-board set of operations might cost, but he said nothing about the money, which I’d already calculated to be around ten million dollars, just to start. Was his tone because I’d come up with some sort of solution so soon, or was it about the fact that I should take more time to consider and work out all of the available options? There was no way to answer such questions because they weren’t asked, and I wasn’t going to bring them up.
The pause went on. I followed my now habitual Thorkelson/Bartok practice of remaining silent until Herbert said something, anything, first.
“Okay, but that’s a limited and edgy approval to at least get started,” Herbert finally got out, as if the approval was being forced out of him using physical torture. “I can’t promise Lear jets. I don’t even know how many of those are around in the world and I guess I should have expected you to come up with some bizarre insurance solution to the whole thing, given what else you do. What if there’s somebody out there doing this already?”
“Then they’ll have one heck of a competitor because I don’t think the mother-ship is going to mind paying whatever claims come in without question or as to amounts.”
As I said the words I slumped down off the sitting pedestal to the floor in relief. The Agency was going to back me, at least conditionally and that meant, unless I did something else stupid on the mission, I was in, and the career would hold, the money, home, and car would remain and my life might just have some kind of understandable meaning.
“They can’t be military or ex-military stuff. I picked Lear because those are always and only little business jets with a very long unrefueled range.”
“Call me again in four or five hours,” Herbert said. “I have more approvals to get but you’re going to have to get back here and explain all this, and that’s if you get the ambassador to go along. What about those supposed security guys?”
My mind went to the two black suits with polished prom shoes with a jolt. They would be out there and waiting. They’d have had time to contact their control officers. Was the purchase of life insurance attempt a ruse on their part to see if I was real and given that I used a Mass Mutual business card but only had a few Banker’s life applications I’d grabbed when at the Albuquerque office, I was a bit worried. That both men had become so quickly and completely docile after being coldly and dangerously non-threatening bothered me. I had nobody and nothing to back me up except maybe the Marines at the embassy if I could get there in an emergency. Whatever the cultural heritage of the Koreans, the two men had struck me, upon meeting them outside my room, as combatants. Not the guys in the rear with the gear. The concept of life insurance hadn’t been part of my ridiculous little presentation and life insurance, as so commonly purchased and paid for in the U.S. and some other Western countries didn’t exist in Korea.
“Before you go,” I said, not wanting to ask for anything more but still wanting to be able to sleep through the night, “What if I revisit the embassy and pick up a Samuel research kit?” I waited, wondering if a man of Herbert’s vast combat life experience would pick up on the substance of my strange request.
“There’s some things you’re not telling me, I presume,” he said, the tone of his voice changing completely. “Buck Sergeant named Smith but everybody calls him Bulldog. I’ll get something through to him. Show or no show, it’s your call, but make damn sure that you act in as conservative a manner as possible. I’m not putting this on the inventory.”
He hung up without saying goodbye. I eased myself up and replaced the phone on its old-fashioned cradle located at shoulder height. I pulled it back off and listened, hoping for a dial tone but it was dead. I’d have to go back out to the front desk, get an open line and then come back, which meant the guys in black would likely be there waiting.
John Browning invented the .45 automatic, although it was licensed to Samuel Colt. Possessing that weapon where I was suddenly felt necessary to the mission, or to my well-being which could be arguably made an important part of the mission…or so I hoped. That Herbert had caught on so fast and then responded the way he did, nearly instantly, moved him much higher on my judgment of his intellect and his ability. The automatic had been invented back in 1904 and the 1911 model, the model my dad had acquainted me with so many years ago and that I’d used so effectively in Vietnam packed one hell of a punch but even more important, made me feel secure just by having it nearby.
I stepped out of the booth and made for the front desk without bothering to look for the security men. They were either waiting or they were not. That I’d been recalled to the embassy would be my excuse if they had as I’d decided not to allow them to compare written notes about my possibly lying about the insurance. I wasn’t due at the embassy to check on Nguyen until the following day but I wanted the Colt and I needed to get the money, but most of all I had to talk to my wife, even though it was early in the morning in New Mexico.
“Would you like us to make the connection with AT&T and put it through?” the young woman asked, her tone subservient and gentle like most of the hospitality crews everywhere I’d among so far.
I nodded, writing my new home number down on the pad she slid across the top of the counter. She pulled the top piece of paper off and then turned to pick up a different phone behind her. She remained speaking where she was for a few minutes while I waited.
Finally, she turned and smiled. “Number five,” she said, handing the piece of paper back, somehow understanding that I wanted it. If I’d used an outside phone then the cost to my Amex card would have probably been one-fifth the cost of a hotel room charge but I didn’t care.
Now that things were moving they were beginning to accelerate at lightning speed. I had to get with the ambassador and the headmaster as soon as possible, and then over to the Bank of Korea to get cash, and then to the embassy for a Colt if one was to be made available, as well as get the cash to Nguyen. There would be no chance of keeping the money exchange secret but then there was no real reason why it had to be that I could see. Finally, at some point, I had to have a secure place to talk to Nguyen. I didn’t have any idea about whether they’d deport him or simply escort him to the airport although it was becoming unlikely to me that they’d simply let him remain in the country after some of what he’d pulled to find, isolate, and then get me to assist him. That the embassy staff had ‘made’ me was also very likely, although I had no idea what that revelation might portend either.
The phone rang as I was closing and locking the private telephone booth door. I picked up and she was there.
“How is Korea?” she asked.
I waited a few seconds as I’d been instructed. Only the embassy had a double carrier wave system where talking could occur both ways and even in tandem. The Korean connection to AT&T wasn’t so modern. Only one person could speak at a time.
“Listen and don’t talk until I’m done,” I said and then launched into how the telephone system worked as well as the fact that my initial work was done. I’d be going to Washington, back to Albuquerque to set up the company there, and then on to other countries to sell insurance.
There was silence until I remembered my own speech.
“Okay, you can talk now, and I’ll listen,” I said, sheepishly.
“You need sleep,” she said, “I can hear it in your voice, and you’re running at about a hundred and twenty miles an hour, which means you’re going to run into something hard. I don’t know what’s going on but I can tell you from here and what little I know that you can’t do these things like you’re doing them right now in the way that you’re doing them.”
She stopped talking, being a bit better at working with the system than I was.
“How’s the house, the move going, the Mercedes, and all of that? Is Julie registered in school? Has anybody checked on you? Heard anything from anyone back in San Clemente?” I stopped, realizing that I was doing exactly what she said I was doing, and it was a mistake. I had to slow down. She was right, as she usually was, and I needed the advice.
“Everything’s fine here with all of that except the car,” she replied. “I can’t drive a car that runs on glow plugs.”
Her comment told me that she’d gone out to the garage to start the Benz, and then become confounded when the thing wouldn’t start, merely blinking red lights at her to make her wait until the plugs were hot enough to ignite diesel fuel squirted onto the tops of the pistons.
“I’ll call you from the embassy so we can have a protected conversation, “ I said when she stopped talking and I knew it was my turn.
Just talking to her caused me to feel better about everything. Without having a back-and-forth discussion though it was hard to talk and there was so much I had to tell her, and advice to get from her, that simply could not be discussed when I now knew that so many agencies and individuals were listening to every word. At least at home, I knew only the Agency would be monitoring everything.
I went to the entrance after hanging up the phone. I hadn’t booked the hotel car I realized, as I stepped through the opened glass door out onto the tiled area under the huge canopy stretching out toward the main street where throngs of motorcycles, scooters, and tuk-tuks raced about.
A tuk-tuk came racing from the right side of the building. I jumped back as it stopped right in front of me, its right front railing not more than a foot away.
“It’s me, Ho, I waiting,” Ho said, leaning toward me and waving toward the back shelf-life seat.
“Yo bo seo,” I replied, using Korean for the first time in my life. I’d heard the expression said when people first met one another in the lobby. If that expression didn’t mean hello then I was pretty sure Ho would tell me.
Ho laughed and said something back in Korean with the same ending I’d used but didn’t understand
“Bank of Korea,” I said, dragging my tattered briefcase with me and clamping it between my legs.
I hadn’t expected Ho to still be waiting and I felt guilty for kind of making him do so and a bit put upon because now I was forced into more than a taxi driver-client relationship. I was trying to be a spy to not attract attention and certainly not form relationships everywhere I went.
The ride was as before although the bank was only a few blocks away. The traffic was so bad it took almost fifteen minutes to get there. At one unavoidable stoppage, where the sidewalks were too crowded to allow for violating every pedestrian’s safety and right of way, I asked Ho about the abundance of the strange three-wheeled vehicles I was riding in.
“Tuk-tuks called that because of the sound…tuk, tuk, tuk,” he said rapidly, while turning to smile back at me. “Cheap, cheap, cheap too,” he went on.
Once we arrived at the bank I climbed out and went inside without comment. I knew that Ho needed no instructions to wait. Somehow, I was now like part of his tuk-tuk family, and what I paid probably had everything to do with that. Every ride was a U.S. twenty which made my life simple and easier while probably doing the same in a much bigger way for Ho.
The bank transaction went much quicker, slicker, and more expensive than I was ready for. There was no wait and the woman at the counter took the card after listening to my short request and then held her hand out without saying anything. I put my passport into her hand and waited. She turned around, examined the card, and ran it through a card machine before turning back and smiling. I’d expected some questions about limits, the name on the card being Bankers Life of Iowa with mine under it, or something.
“One million nine hundred ninety-two won,” she said, and then began to count out stacks of multi-thousand dollar won notes. I waited for the process to end. She pushed the stacks out further toward me on the countertop and then placed my card and passport on the top of the pile. Her big, seemingly genuine, smile reappeared.
I took the card and passport and put them in my pocket.
“I need this in U.S. currency,” I said, wondering why she’d ignored my original request.
“Different transaction,” she replied. “I will convert for you,” she went on as she pulled the whole stack back. It took minutes for her to replace the won back to where she’d taken it and then count out U.S. hundreds from her drawer.
“One thousand nine hundred and twelve,” she said, after quickly counting the bills onto two stacks.
“What about the two thousand?” I asked, in surprise.
“Conversion fee required by Korean law,” she replied, again with a smile.
I folded the nineteen bills in half and put them in my pocket along with the ten and two singles. Ten percent just to exchange the money. I walked out of the bank where Ho waited, as expected. I was in a different world, I realized, and trying to learn fast. Tuk-tuk rides were cheap but not banks, or probably any other finance I might encounter.
“Embassy,” I said to Ho, handing him a twenty along with the twelve the woman at the counter had given me. Nineteen hundred would have to do for Nguyen’s transportation back to California.
The traffic had somehow disappeared as Ho raced along the roadway, deftly but uncomfortably missing potholes and gaping cracks in the concrete patched with asphalt surfaces. The heat of the day was beginning to make itself felt as the humidity also climbed. It wasn’t deep under the triple canopy of the Vietnam jungle but it was sure beginning to remind me of those awful days.
Ho dropped me and then pulled away, as the embassy allowed no vehicles to stand or park near the opening where the never-ending line of local visitors extended out from. I spotted one of the Marine guards and held out my I.D. toward him, which seemed to have worked better last time I was there than any passport might have.
“Bulldog,” I said.
“Inside, sir,” he replied, snapping a salute and handing me back my I.D. card.
I went through the double doors, opened by the two Marines who guarded them without comment or question. There was no saluting as I was in civilian attire and they had no idea who I was.
“Bulldog,” I repeated, as I stepped through.
“That way,” both Marines said, pointing down the hallway in unison.
Before I got halfway down the hall, having no idea how to find the sergeant in the labyrinth that was the embassy, a door opened.
“Inside,” a gruff voice intoned.
I stepped in and the door closed behind me. Under the fluorescent light sat Nguyen, a cup of tea or some other hot liquid in his right hand, like he was in some coffee or tea shop somewhere.
“I’m the detachment OIC,” the thickset man, also in civilian attire, said.
“The fax you were waiting for was received and is inside this envelope.”
I accepted the business-size envelope without comment.
“Here’s you charge free to go, at least inside the USA here, but it’s anybody’s guess once he’s beyond the gate.”
Bulldog reached behind him and pulled up a black plastic case.
“Here’s the camera you requested, which somehow has to find its way back into inventory or my ass is grass and the ambassador will be the lawnmower.”
“You’re with him,” Bulldog said, pointing at Nguyen.
Nguyen stood up and stepped to my side, quickly and sinuously smooth, just as if he was moving through the steaming jungle bracken once more.
“Doesn’t talk much,” Bulldog said, but with a smile. “Maybe that’s a good thing in what the hell it is you’re doing. My brother was in Kilo in the valley, and I think you commanded him for a bit, in your time.”
“What was his name?” I asked, knowing that the answer would likely be useless to me. Most of the Marines in both of my companies were nameless to me except by nickname, and I’d only gotten to know a few of those.
“Doesn’t matter anymore,” Bulldog replied, getting the door. “He came home and went straight to Arlington.”
I sighed very gently, trying to show no emotion. I’d already guessed, of course, as almost nobody in Kilo survived.
“I won’t tell you to stay out of trouble as trouble is what you do, but if things get real bad then get your shavetail ass back to the compound here just as fast as you can. We don’t give up our Marines.”
I led Nguyen out of the embassy just as Ho pulled up. I motioned for him to get inside and then clambered in after him, pushing my briefcase into his lap but not letting go of my ‘camera’ box.
“We need a quiet place where nobody will record us,” I said to Ho, knowing I was probably giving him too much information, but needing to talk to Nguyen without any possibility of anybody overhearing us, and then went for U.S. assets as well as Korean.
“Guksu,” Ho said, turning up a crowded alley that had hundreds of wires strung back and forth across a line of seamless walled buildings, sagging from one side to the other. We came to a very tiny door that led into a small room where locals were all consuming or waiting to consume some sort of noodle soup. The place looked unhealthy, but the soup smelled wonderful.
Ho waded through the people, and the tables to get to a back wall where there was another door.
“Auntie Kim,” he said with a big smile.
I led Nguyen through the door which Ho promptly closed behind us, whispering that he would be on guard.
There was one small table and three chairs. I sat in one and Nguyen in the other. I pulled out the envelope with the nineteen bills. And put it on the table.
“From here you head to Kimpo airport and get home on the first flight using the nineteen hundred in U.S. cash inside. Your green card is renewed for two years and your path to citizenship will be expedited for both you and your wife. Her green card will arrive at your residence. You are now an asset of the United States and your role, if ever asked, is that of courier, which I may need you really to be.
A woman who I assumed to be Auntie Kim pushed open the door and deftly slid two steaming bowls of soup onto the top of the table between us before turning and backing out of the room.
“Eat, while I change,” I said, pointing at the soup bowls.
I got up and took off my sports coat and then opened the little black box Bulldog had given me. As expected, there was a shoulder holster rig inside. I took the multi-leather strapped thing out and worked to get it situated across my shoulders. I then pulled out the Colt, and checked to see that it was loaded by pulling the magazine and clearing the action. I unloaded the magazine and then reloaded it with five-six rounds instead of the seven it had inside. I gently clicked the magazine home and reloaded the weapon, pulling back on the slide to guide on .45 cartridge home into the chamber. I hit the little lever to put the action on safety and then worked a bit to get the Colt into the holster and my coat back on.
“What do you think?’ I said to Nguyen, with a smile.
He spooned a vegetable-laden load of soup into this mouth before commenting.
“Like always, Junior,” he replied, without smiling, just as it was before, now so long ago.
I closed the box, retrieved my briefcase, and sat back.
“Now tell me what the hell you’re doing here and how you came to be here in the first place.”
James, I’m not a young man, and I’ve been around a lot of harsh situations, but the remark from Bulldog:
“Doesn’t matter anymore,” Bulldog replied, getting the door. “He came home and went straight to Arlington.”
Was a shot to the gut.
I continue to be in awe of the mindset of current and former military personnel. The dedication to God and Country displayed so nonchalantly stands in stark contrast to the attitudes of so many today.
My pessimism for the future of our country retreats in the face of such dedication.
To both you and all vets living and dead I offer a heartfelt THANK YOU for your service.
Wow, but that’s a wonderful compliment and also sends a warm message of support.
I didn’t intent to be a national hero or a great international servant of democracy and the wonderful American experiment.
It just somehow happened.
Thanks for making me a bit more than I really am.
I am smiling at the writing of this response, Robert.
Semper fi,
Jim
LT, you sure love spending the agency’s money and pushing agency people around in a way that surprises even them. They don’t really understand you and don’t know how to react to you. A sneaky way to help Nguyen who certainly deserves it. I expect he will be the watchdog over your family when your not around.
Herbert was a wonderful interface at the time. He had this undying confidence that I would somehow get it right even when doing it wrong. The agency bends many rules to get the job done, upon occasion. They are also very malleable about changing what happened after it happened, at least for public consumption. They can also frame people without compunction and send them to prison! Funny world out there.
Semper fi,
Jim
I have enjoyed every thing you have written from 30 days til now ! It is getting more interesting as we move though this story. Getting the 45 Colt puts a warm feeling in my gut !Thanks for what you do.
Funny how how the mere possession of that weapon, going all the way back to my childhood when my dad first
taught me how to shoot it (the .45 would go up over my head with every shot before I could get it back down!) has always
given me a sense of well being even though most times I never had to use it or even threaten with it. By the way, that’s another road myth, that if you take out a gun then you shoot somebody. If you can threaten with a gun and it works then you win big time compared to the absolute mess of shooting someone.
Semper fi,
Jim
James,
is it going to be a problem that you forgot to tell him to buy a ticket on a U.S. domestic airline?
Thanks for another slice of this adventure.
THE WALTER DUKE. The story has not played out to that point yet but thanks for pointing that out.
Airports and airlines were a helluva lot different, especially internationally, in those days. Over the years
I flew in airplanes with cracks in the fuselage that were big enough to see through, planes with noses bashed in by bird strikes and two that had streaks of oil flowing down the wing from an engine for the whole flight! I told one pilot that the forward bearing in his right turbine was going at takeoff power…and I got escorted off the plane!
Thanks for the usual sharp eye and informed comment my friend
Semper fi
Jim
Another good story !! Thanks Sir !!
Thanks Roger. Laconic compliment but a good one nevertheless!
Semper fi,
Jim
When it comes down to the violence of conflict. We don’t fight for country or glory or “the right thing” we fight for the buddy beside us who is in the crap with you, both terrified and just trying to make it out alive. The moral goals and greater good mean nothing when you taste your own blood. The only thing that matters is the buddy who is beside you trying to help you.
Finding Nguyen and securing his survival had to be one of the most profound moments of your life! Being able to give back what he gave you is a personal gift very few people can ever deliver. That you made it a mission imperative to get him safe speaks volumes of your character. The story itself is incredible and the narrative so compelling I can’t wait for the next chapter !
DEAS GU CATH ! (Semper Fi for marines)
The Canadian Scottish Regiment, ‘ready for the fight, fray or whatever!’ What a neat phrase to tack on to
your very interesting and personal comment. Thanks for that and you are most correct. ‘Saving’ Nguyen was
one of the greatest things I ever got to do while in the intelligence service. You sound like a combat survivor yourself
James, as your observation about living through such a thing is totally accurate. When I hear talk about vets serving multiple tours in a war zone I always have the same thought; “so your last tour would have been the combat one, huh?” One does not go into real combat and then ask to go back…unless one has lost one’s mind because of that combat. As the Gunny said while we were down in the valley together…”if you come to enjoy this, then there’s no coming back from that.”
Semper fi
Jim
Thank-you for taking the time to research the comments!. I was a member of “B”Coy. Canadian Scottish Regiment. I was also a veteran of 35 yrs LEO many years in remote northern communities without back-up close. I had many terrifying moments fighting to stay alive.
Maintain Le Droit !
!
Thanks James for all you have done for your fellow man…although the fellow men and women remain unknowing of your
contributions. Real heroism is very much that way for so many who serve and sacrifice.
Thanks for what you did and for being on here to tell of some of it.
Semper fi,
Jim
You had a hell of a life and you tell a good story
Thanks Isaac, most appreciative of this kind of compliment.
It’s been one wild ride, that’s for certain.
Semper fi,
Jim
Sir, I believe you would have made a hell of a chef.
You have pots boiling all over the place 😂🤣
Thanks Tom, for the neat compliment. I still have a lot of those pots, old as they are, at full boil!
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, I saved every chapter from Thirty Days Has September.
I couldn’t read the first one but have read all the rest.
What a life!!
Anne
It’s always a pleasure to have a woman comment on here, as those things in my life
that consist of the adventures written about here also include a whole lot of respect and
participation by my wonderful wife…and I don’t read many authors admitting to that.
Thanks so much.
Semper fi,
Jim
Yes very good read
The agency must really like you
It seems like you get by with doing things without much questioning.
Thanks for the kind words Pat, and the Agency came to question a whole lot more as
the missions became more political. Its’ not often, like with the Korea mission,
wherein you can do so much public good while still serving the Agency goals.
Thanks for the compliment up front too.
Semper fi,
Jim
Samuel Colt did not invent the.45automatic , that was John Brownings brainchild.
Yes, Chuck…what was a I thinking? I corrected that right away in the edit
for the story here and the final work. What would I do without you guys and gals?
Most sincerely
my friend
Semper fi,
Jim
Well, this is great writing. The story is mesmerizing I was not surprised Mary calmed you down. I have that same model at home, thank God. Coping in such a situation can be incredibly challenging. I am not sure I could have adjusted to such an unstructured ,amorphous, ambiguous situation. Especially in country where I don’t speak the language and by looking at me you know I am not a native.
A Samuel review- most clever.
I enjoyed the San Clemente stories because I could relate so closely to your emotional and psychological impulses. Now I am amazed at your adaptability . We were trained to see defined enemies and uncertain dangers ,because they were clearly? easily ? defined in combat. Or so the story goes, but in a strange land much harder it identify especially in such a foreign culture. No support systems, no guidelines, and even less control than in war,
How did you do it?
You are more flexible than I thought.
Write faster
We are all a collected and loosely held together bag of tools with the applicaton of life experience to use those tools.
I, like you, was given quite a ‘bag of tools’ and was fortunate enough to be able to add to that bag over time. Not forgetting much along the way helps a great deal. Some things do slip by. Thanks for the compliments, which you write liberally and often and which help to propel me ever onward. The Agency stuff can get a bit sticky as time goes by because I have to be very careful that I don’t publish classified data or people’s names that might still cause harm through all these years in between.
I don’t need trouble from that quarter.
Thanks for everything, as usuals my friend,
Semper fi,
Jim
Fantastic as always. Thank you.
Thanks for the short but great compliment Kirby!
Semper fi
Jim
Ah, an increment of progress, bravo.
Despite going 120 mph, you’re being pretty deft.
Thank you again for the entertainment Jim, keep up the good work.
Thanks Tim, it was such a pleasure, in those days, to be required to run on ‘all twelve cylinders,’ as I describe it. Of course it was also a pleasure to have 12 cylinders to work with! Much appreciate the compliments and how that keeps me going. All life out here these days of aging don’t exactly possess all the elements that might cause an author to want to sit down and pour his or her heart out. Much appreciate what you write.
Semper fi,
Jim
Outstanding as usual. Keep up the great work. It just gets better and better!
Thanks David, means the world to me to read your stuff on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,
Your last chapter ended with the humorous interaction with the Korean ‘security’.
This chapter ends with the answer to the now unneeded questions about when will we get more ‘specifics’ on Nguyen. Additionally as perhaps more information for you about who/multiple who’s who decided to send an untrained asset on a mission to Korea.
More later. Need to re-read multiple times to try and catch up with your 125 mph (Yeah, typing speed.) mind and actions – Depending on the number of “re-reads” required, will utilize as my weekly exercise, mental as well as physical.
Finally, reference your call with Mary – “but I can tell you from here and what little I know that you can’t do these things like you’re doing them right now in the way that you’re doing them.” – from ‘who’ is she getting “what little I know from” and why? Seems as if based on your previously recorded conversations at your ‘bugged’ home, someone has decided that Mary is something of a very reliable/important ‘asset’ to you and therefore, the Agency. Just sayin’.
Regards my friend,
Doug
As usual Doug, you are spot on about the Agency’s regard for my wife. There was never any kickback when she was recorded to have been told top secret stuff by me. I only got called on the carpet for telling my mother something once…and then when they figured out it was my mother after calling me in, they just looked at each other and shook their heads. The passage of secret information among family members has to be there for there’s very quickly no trust foundation to the family organization and therefore, no more family. The Agency knows that. Thanks for the great compliment of the content of your writing. Much enjoy and appreciate.
Semper fi,
Jim
Very complicated life you have started in this chapter Jim,but from what we have learned in the past you are the man for the job.
Thankyou most kindly Ronald. It seems that there’s some accuracy in your comment although I don’t think we
ever see it much in ourselves until maybe in retrospect when we are much older.
Semper fi,
Jim
Here’s you charge free to go,
* your
pulling back on the slide to guide on .45 cartridge home into the chamber.
*slide and releasing it to guide one .45 cartridge
What happened to the two men in black that were waiting for you to complete your phone calls?
There were simply gone when I was done, Don, and I think I stated that but I’ll have to look back into the chapter.
Thanks for the editing help. Much appreciated.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Jim,
As usual leaving us wanting more. Nguyen has been the perfect asset to have your back, as always. Looking forward to the next chapter.
Thanks Reb for the compliment and wanting more!
Semper fi,
Jim
Awesome chapter your still very adept at thinking Jon your feet
Thanks Robert for the kindly but pretty accurate compliment. Nice to see it written though!
Semper fi,
Jim
How did Nguyen even know you were in Korea?
Thanks Tony for the very apropos question, which gets answered in the coming chapter.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, LT, Junior SALUTE Your writing must be improving, or my flashbacks must be getting worse.
You Sir have managed to make me go back through some periods of my life that have always left me in wonder. I am so Blessed that You have been placed in a position that allows You to become a benefactor to Your benefactor. 53 years on I’ve wondered what happened to the people who helped me. God Bless You James and the wonderful Family/extended Family and support Group You have been Blessed to interact with. God Bless Stay Safe SALUTE
Wow, now that’s a long and wonderful compliment through and through and also
gives every appearance of coming straight from your heart.
Cannot really describe how good that makes me feel. Thanks so much
and God bless you too.
Semper fi,
Jim
Fabulous! I can’t wait to see you in action re-united with Nguyen! A wingman like him will make it happen.
Semper Fi!
Sometimes, in life, we are blessed with certain animals and humans bonding with us and that’s so very special to our survival,
both physically sometimes and emotionally.
Thanks for the great compliment in your wording.
Semper fi,
Jim
Just a minor correction – the 1911 45 cal. pistol was invented by John Browning. The rights were sold to Colt.
How did I screw that up? You are so correct and I have to make the correction in the chapter. Thanks so much.
I knew that so why didn’t it come out that way? Thanks so much!
Semper fi,
Jim
Herbert was right “Holy Shit” was an understatement. Another great chapter but saddened about the Marine coming home and going to Arlington. Heroes all.
Thanks my friend Chuck. Yes, always hard to be hit with the abrupt revelation of another combat departure.
Lives cut way too short and lives back home devastated and broken.
Thanks for the understanding and the observation.
Semper fi,
Jim
Decided to possibly use Nguyen as your courier? See how that goes once he reveals why & how he got to Korea.
Yes, interesting chapter coming up, for those fans of Nguyen and mine.
Semper fi and thanks for the compliment.
Jim
Exciting and head-swimming as usual! What a writer you are. What a life you have led.
One minor nitpick:
“What about the two thousand?” Should that instead be two hundred?
Cheers
Gary
Thanks Gary, for the kind compliment and also I have to go back and check the chapter to see what I might have
screwed up. Thanks for the help with that.
Semper fi,
Jim
John Browning invented the 45 automatic pistol. Samuel Colt invented the revolver, originally a percussion cap fired single action. Both are still in widespread use today.
I corrected thanks to you and a few other experts who caught that.
I wonder why I wrote that as I sure as hell know better.
Thanks for the help with all that before we go to print.
Semper fi,
Jim
Action packed from start to finish!
Jim, you are really setting a benchmark high – such an enjoyable read, start to finish.
And you have really settled into your new role as an agent. You seem to instinctively lead, to realize how to accomplish the various tasks needed for success.
Most importantly, you are protecting a very valuable asset, and inspiring a continued and deepened loyalty.
Will you be able to keep that 1911 a secret until needed? I have a long-time love affair for the1911, starting when I was 12 and the Gunny at Sangley Point NAS, Philippines, taught me the ins and outs of the weapon. He had me qualify with every weapon they had in the armory; the 1911 being my favorite. Currently have the Remington model, with night sights, carried it for my 12 years as a LEO.
Write faster – your chapters raise me out of this morbid depression.
Morbid depressions are my specialty! I don’t experience them, as life for me is just too fantastically entertaining and the lonely stuff, which is what I call the inducement of feeling from people the don’t give a shit about me and let me know that, is kept to a raging minimum. So, my number is 2625815300 and I will most definitely take your call. If you are not laughing after five minutes than I will fall into a morbid depression.
Semper fi, and thanks for everything your wrote about this segment.
Your friend,
Jim
I remember a local I worked with in India, I think was in the military caste. His driver lived in his garage alway there to drive or do what was asked! Also, the Corps really is a small place.
Good stuff, now all I have to do is wait!
Car attendants and drivers still occupy very important places out there in the ‘real’ world, as the fictitious place the USA really is, compared to the rest of the countries of the world. One day automatic cars will dominate the world but that’s a long way off, not because of the technology but because the human resistance to such an integral change. I never knew any drivers to live in the garages of their charges but I sure as hell believe it.
Thanks, Colonel for waiting for more.
Semper fi, my great friend,
Jim