I stood stunned. The weights at the bottom of the ceramic characters he’d given me were not lead. I thought for just a few seconds, remembering handling the pieces and putting them into the special broken down manger scene I’d made myself in the garage. There were too heavy to be lead, I realized, and there were no bottom weights. The ceramic pieces, the camel being the heaviest, were just too heavy. Gold weighed almost twice what lead did and to be as heavy as the pieces were meant that they were not weighted with that element. They were fully filled with it.
The big bull-nosed Sikorsky helicopter nearby was being wheeled out of the hangar as I looked down at the sergeant in front of me. He hadn’t bothered to make the call to the number I’d given him, leaving the small piece of note paper in front of him on the desk. I reached my left hand down and took the paper, crumbling into a small ball before putting it in my pocket. I had no idea about what would have happened if the sergeant made the call. What would the agent who might be brought on the line say? As soon as my name was linked to the code number the agent would know that I was on a mission and that I’d given out the number and code to be verified as to who and what I was. Herbert told me that that was a no-no. You never reveal yourself when in the field on a mission…or you can very quickly get dead. You can attend all the parties you want in the USA and claim to be an agent of the CIA. Everyone will laugh at you. Say it in the vestibule of some Barcelona church in Spain and you’ll be dead before the sun sets. The revelation of a real CIA agent working abroad is a very valuable bit of information and will sell for thousands of US dollars.
Nguyen prepared to walk out and get aboard the chopper, its blades spinning as the S58-T turbine engine spooled up. I was glad that the chopper was one of the new ones with the twin turbines, as, since the fuselage was made of magnesium to save on weight if the chopper caught fire at almost any altitude it would completely burn up before it could be brought down. With the turbines, the chances of such a fire were much less, and also the new ones had only a few sheets of magnesium.
“I’ll be calling,” I said. “You also have my number and I’ll send you the fax number too when you get home. I’m portraying you as a courier so you may have to come back out to the field from time to time. You got sent to Korea to meet me. That was a really good move for you and me but the people who did it and paid for it are going to be asking some questions later on, hopefully not questioning you, however.”
“The Nativity scene figures. Why didn’t you return for what’s in them if you needed the money?” I asked, a bit surprised and befuddled.
“That is yours, not mine,” he replied, his expression flat and not open for use as an interpretive tool for evaluation.
I released my hand from his arm and he stepped up into the helicopter. The side door immediately closed and he was lost to view. I backed away as the turbines spun up the four blades that beat a hundred-mile-an-hour wind down onto the tarmac under it. I ducked down and backed away as the huge chopper lifted itself. The wind beat down and across the tarmac, sweeping up debris and dust. I shielded my eyes, turned back, and walked hunched over into the hanger, wondering if I’d ever see or hear from the mysterious man again. Just having him present again for such a short period allowed me to feel like flank security was all around me.
I checked my watch. I could reach Mary before it was too late or too early in the morning in Albuquerque. I had to know about the Nativity scene pieces. I couldn’t believe I’d never questioned the unreasonably heavy weight of the pieces.
The sergeant pointed me toward a dirt road leading to the embassy. I needed transportation back to the hotel. I trusted the hotel telephone system more than the embassy connections. I wasn’t about to reveal, if it was true, that there were thousands of dollars sitting inside a box in my closet that held the pieces. Money was one thing, but movies were still made out of the madness that possession of gold brought.
Even though it was a relatively short road, the walk took time, as I wasn’t equipped for the rocky terrain in my shoes. Once I got to the Marine guards at the gate, and being thankful they all remembered me, I went straight to Bulldog.
The sergeant, who resembled a very large and muscled bulldog, laughed when he saw me.
“Back so soon, lieutenant?” he asked, as if expecting me. “You need to use the phone to call home?”
I shrugged, his message giving everything I needed to know about how some part of the U.S. apparatus was listening in at all times. Whether he knew that some agents called the CIA headquarters home or whether it was my conversation with my wife or whatever. He knew plenty and I needed everyone to know a whole lot less.
“I retire from this in six months, sir, and that’s all I want. I don’t know where you’re from or where you’re going and I don’t want to. What is it you want? What are you doing back here? Obviously, your little lethal-seeming Vietnam guy made it out of here. Nice work, I think. The kind of guy you don’t want to meet in a dark alley, not that you would meet him before you were dead, anyway.”
“I need a ride back to the hotel I’m staying at,” I said, not bothering to tell him I had no way to contact the man who’d become my trusted driver.
“Embassy vehicles are all out right now,” the sergeant said, a certain measure of regret in his tone. I’ll get you a three-wheeled nightmare ride if you really want one.”
I nodded my head. A tuk-tuk would do. I’d noted when I entered the embassy that there were none of the thousands of those vehicles waiting at the front gate.
“No tuk-tuk’s waiting, like at all the hotels?” I asked, accepting his offer to get hold of one for me.
“The damn things kill people all the time, either from accidents or, rarely, if the passenger gets shot with an arrow.”
I surprised myself by not flinching or changing my facial expression. How could the man have know about that incident, which would have to go down as an extremely rare event, even with the overwhelming population of Seoul. There was only one man who knew about that incident, and that was Ho? Was everyone in Korea my enemy? I’d come there to open some companies to add to the economy and then take up with an ex-ambassador, not even a real ambassador who was of rather an unsavory reputation from what I was getting. That reputation was rubbing off on me, and potentially my mission. One of the Marines accompanied me back to the front gate. Once outside he pulled out a big metal whistle and blew into it hard enough to hurt my ears. Out of the mass of bikes, scooters, and cars, a tuk-tuk swerved toward where we stood. The Corporal unnecessarily pointed at the little thing as it skidded to a stop.
“Your chariot has arrived,” the Marine said with a smile.
I clambered into the back shelf of a seat and told the driver the name of my hotel.
I was going down. My ambassador and the headmaster of the school would have to wait. If I didn’t eat and sleep, I wasn’t going to be any good for anything. I also needed to simply sit quietly and think. There were too many mysteries and I had to come to terms with them or the .45 in my holster wouldn’t be there simply to make me feel less of an outlander in a culture I was having a hard time understanding. I’d been raised in Hawaii and worked and played with plenty of Orientals but the depth of the differences I’d found after only two days in Korea shocked me.
The driver was a madman, careening the three-wheeled, and inherently stable tuk-tuk up onto two wheels several times. The engine in his machine was much louder than Ho’s so I couldn’t say anything, not that he necessarily spoke English.
I paid the man with a twenty, just as normally paid Ho. He said nothing, merely pocketing the cash and blasting off in his hot rod tuk-tuk. I was surprised that Ho wasn’t sitting out front but not totally, as I was coming to suspect that Korea was a much closer-knit set of relationships extending throughout politics, police, and business than I was accustomed to back in the States.
I went up to my room, took a hot shower after ordering a couple of cheese burgers. The kitchen didn’t stock French Fries so I took the alternative, white rice. I knew it would come sticky, if not downright gooey, just like I liked from my childhood. The order was there when I finished my super-hot shower. I felt truly clean for the first time since entering the country. Korea, at least downtown Seoul, wasn’t a clean city. The sun was still shining when I crawled into the bed. I awoke in the morning having no memory of going to sleep or spending any time waiting inside the covers to fall asleep. I got up and got ready to face the day.
Wearing a fully decked out suit and tie every day was like working back in the Western White House. There should be no reason for such formality but, as with the White House, there were traditions that had to be followed.
I stopped moving and checked myself out in the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the bedroom, another strange touch that told me I was deep inside a very foreign culture. Suddenly, it hit me. I hadn’t called either of the two characters I’d been assigned to put things together with and I had potentially great news for both of them. We would not likely have our companies, the ambassador would get a place in D.C. and run the medical company, the Learjets, or some similar fast-movers, would be acquired and the headmaster’s school would get free insurance for his employees. They might be mad when I got downstairs to make the call but that pique would disappear with the results I was bringing.
After riding the ‘ding at every floor’ elevator I had the front desk put a call in to Porter. I walked across the lobby and went through a small door marked with a brass plaque reading “Number 3.” I grabbed the phone off the hook wondering why anyone in any culture would write the word number before the number itself.
Porter was on the phone. I’d prefer calling people by dialing the number myself but the front desk service was free and the people working hospitality truly helpful and super friendly.
“Where…” was all Porter got out before I broke in and filled them in with the plan, overstating the approvals I was hoping would be there when I called Herbert for results.
I made an appointment at my hotel with both men to attend in the afternoon. I hung up the phone and headed back to the front desk. I would have much preferred to be calling from a more secure line at the embassy but I didn’t want to.
I stepped outside the hotel door, knowing that Ho would be there. After my totally terrifying ride in a tuk-tuk the day before, I was relieved and pleased. Ho was a wild driver in his own right but he was like a Formula 1 driver compared to the stock car kind of crash-and-burn one I’d hired the day before. As I approached him, thinking to have him transport me back to the Bank of Korea for another cash withdrawal. The hotel didn’t accept U.S. checks nor did they advance money on an American Express card. I’d used all of my cash and Seoul was a cash city. My presumption that Nguyen would have enough money to get home weighed on me, particularly after finding out about the gold. Nguyen hadn’t said it was gold, he’d simply said the pieces weren’t weighted with lead. My memory was pretty good for such things, however, and I trusted the sense of feel from handling them myself. What would the pieces generate in cash if what was in them was ten-carat gold instead of twenty-four? My mind whirled over such nonsensical thoughts.
Ho stood by the tuk-tuk holding out his right hand. Thinking that he wanted to shake hands, I stuck my own out, which caused him to withdraw his own. I brought my hand down and waited.
“The message,” he said, extending his hand again, this time opening it to reveal a small folded piece of paper.
“What message?” I asked, mystified.
“The arrow message,” he said, continuing to push the little piece of paper toward me.
I took the paper out his hand and unraveled it. The small paper was filled with even smaller Korean characters, the meaning of which I was totally in the dark.
“Where’s this from?” I asked looking into Ho’s eyes, which were dilated and huge.
Ho was on something but I wasn’t going into that, only wondering if it would affect his driving me around on the jammed streets.
“Back of seat,” he said, producing a second piece of debris, that looked like broken plastic bits and pieces. “Arrow not mean to hurt. Made of Jabon, a very soft wood, these be bits of plastic message hidden inside. Very old way to send a message, like a passenger bird but without the bird. Very meaningful because to do this is an exhibition of their power. Whoever this is being very gentle but very sincere warning which means that they think you are powerful.
“Just how do you know this?” I asked. “I threw the arrow away, or what was left of it,”
I followed up, hoping for some explanation that made sense. Driving around in an anonymous tuk-tuk in Seoul’s heavy traffic and being shot at with an arrow, of all things, and then an arrow with a secret message that was revealed only to the driver of the vehicle wasn’t getting it.
“Who’s that good with a bow and arrow?” I whispered more to myself than to Ho.
“Korea archery champions forever, long before America invented,” Ho replied, his smile taking away any negative comparison feelings that I might have.
“Wait here,” I said, turning to re-enter the lobby.
The doorman was his usual welcoming self. Americans would have a long way to go in catching up to this post-war Korea in hospitality care and manners.
The hotel connected my call, but not to Mary. I wondered, inside the little room and with the phone held to my ear, why I was always put in number three but let that thought slide away. I couldn’t go about accomplishing anything if all I did was suspect I was being spied upon.
I was transferred to the operator for AT&T, a woman named Crystal. I was connected but my call hadn’t gone all the way through. I talked to Crystal as she tried to get the connection to my home, she explained that the undersea cables didn’t always function the way they were supposed to. The embassy could connect using one of the few satellites up in orbit but even that system had holes in it that sometimes proved to be overwhelming.
In my twenty minutes with Crystal, I came to like her and her me. We laughingly agreed to meet in Chicago, her home base at the United headquarters building at O’Hare, if I should get back and had the time. Crystal helped me make a decision that in the future when I needed communications help, the AT&T operators might be an unknown asset for such help, or at least for making me feel like I was experiencing a bit of home.
Mary connected and it felt wonderful to talk to her. My questions about the Nativity scene figures were hard to get across, however. Finally, I got her to get the box out, put the figures in a plastic bag, and then get on our home scale to weigh herself with them. I had no idea that she would get upset about telling me her weight. She was five feet tall and weighed about a hundred pounds. After considerable apologizing and letting her know that the figures were probably filled with gold she finally agreed. She weighed in at a hundred and five pounds. While holding the bag of figurines she weighed in at a hundred and seventeen pounds. I quickly discounted the ceramic probably weighing in at about two pounds. The gold, at whatever carat count it might be, came out to be around ten pounds or a hundred and sixty ounces. I told her to mark the box with a magic marker, indicating that it contained a ceramic Nativity scene for Christmas use. Mary wasn’t happy with the exercise I was putting her through but finally settled down. I talked for a few more minutes about mostly nothing before hanging up, my mind centered around my next phone call to the Bank of Korea. There was no way I was going to tell my wife what the scene figures might be worth, not on a recorded line to God knew who.
The Bank of Korea call took only moments to put through, it being a local number. The price of gold was set at two hundred and three dollars per troy ounce. I had to ask what a troy ounce was, as I’d never heard of it. A ten percent reduction had to be taken to the net weight in American ounces of what seemed to be there. A hundred and forty-four troy ounces at two hundred and three dollars an ounce would work out to just under thirty thousand dollars. I sat, holding the phone, but not truly comprehending not only what Nguyen had given me but what it might mean to him if he understood just how much it was. I hung the receiver up and tried to think my way through.
What I didn’t know about Nguyen was significant and extensive. How had he learned to speak such excellent English since he came to America and when had that even taken place? How old were his children? I didn’t even know his wife’s name although it was rather evident that CIA did or there would be no green card heading her way.
I decided to place the call to Herbert, looking at my watch to see if I would be waking him. Running agents out in the world had to be difficult, I mused, as just the time zones would be more than a bother to put up with. How China managed a country that was large enough to have seven time zones but had none, was not yet explainable to me but I presumed that I’d get to that country one day soon if everything was approved.
Once back from the counter I waited again for Herbert to come on the line, which I badly needed him to. I wanted to get out of the city and country as quickly as possible. My mission was complete, Nguyen was headed home and both he and I were thousands of dollars in the black. Everything else that had to be done could be done through the headmaster and the ambassador.
Herbert’s voice came through.
“Bit late, don’t you think,” he said, his voice blurry with sleep. “They make those watches that have two time zones on them, you know.”
“Is there joy in the valley?” I asked, cutting right through the small talk, by using combat pilot slang. Joy in the valley meant that what bombs that were dropped had hit the target they were intended to hit.
There was a knock at the door, very light but very persistent. I pushed the door slightly open and stared through the inch-wide crack. It was the two security men, once again, but this time they were wearing police uniforms.
“I think I’m being arrested in the lobby of my hotel,” I said to Herbert. “Do whatever it is you do when this sort of thing happens.”
I hung up the phone and opened the door, noting that the men hadn’t bruised their way in upon me like would probably have happened if I was in the USA.
Boom. Just dropped that in at the end. Well played sir. Interest is really piqued, moreso than usual.
Keep ’em coming Jim. We’re really rolling now.
Tim
Thanks for the ‘boom’ Tim! I’m keeping them coming and appreciate the help from great readers and fans like you.
Semper fi,
Jim
Lt., you continue to get in deeper goo!! I’ll wait as patiently as possible for the next chapter.
Thanks for the compliment in inherent in the ‘patiently waiting’ part of your comment.
Means a lot to me.
Semper fi,
Jim
Ian Fleming couldn’t have written anything better than this !!!
Thank’s huge compliment Chuck! Thanks so much.
Semper fi,
Jim
Another very interesting read! The Nguyen character has some very mysterious happenings in his life
Thanks for the compliment Joseph. Nguyen has been special in my life, as you have read.
Semper fi,
Jim
Your wife is a saint!
Thanks Anne, and that’s a most accurate comment I will share with her.
Semper fi,
Jim
Being arrested in the lobby This is going to get interesting
Indeed, it does and thanks for pointing that out Issac.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,
Thanks for another, mind-grinder chapter filled with more riddles and unexpected sharp turns. Who is behind the arrow? I assume it is not Ho, and hope it was not some Korean named Wye, because this would turn into a “Who’s on first?” kind of skit.
You are sharp enough to figure, you HAD to assume, your phone conversations were being monitored–yet you felt the need to TELL Mary on the phone about the (suspected) GOLD? And how the heck do you get molten gold into a ceramic camel (sorry, this his how my mind works)? Seems informing Mary of the gold could have been put on hold and determined later…and not put her at possible risk. Or why not call Mary from the embassy when you were there and had more secure phone line?
Be leery of cheery hotel staff people…(they may not be what they seem to be). With questionable characters everywhere, I have to keep reminding myself that you were in SOUTH Korea and not NORTH.
You typed “We would not likely have our companies,… Did you mean “We would NOW have the companies”? If not, then I am befuddled. Did you ever get the clothes cleaned that you got all muddy? (I want you to look sharp).
EDIT…”Americans would have a long way to go in catching up to this port war Korea in…” POST war?
My bet is that the two police who have come to (as you suppose) arrest you may do so for some reason that does not involve anything you have written so far nor will have anything to do with your (probably bugged) phone conversations. Or perhaps they were “taking” you to meet someone…possibly the person behind the arrow message? What was so important that these two needed to discourteously interrupt your phone conversation and instead just politely wait outside the phone room for you to exit from there in a few minutes? Will the crumpled up arrow note you have in your pocket be an asset or a liability as you interact with the police? If they frisk you and find your weapon it would seem you would be in deep doo-doo,
Was the cause of these two ‘police’ wanting to get you right then connected to your helping to spirit Nguyen out of the country?
I hope you do not try to shoot your way out this pickle…
More pieces of the puzzle that I will have to look at for a long time and ponder to see where they fit. Or you could write faster and fill in the gaps and help me save my dwindling supply almost 77-year-old brain cells.
Keep ’em coming.
I do enjoy the mental gymnastics you laughingly and with mild malice do put me through.
THE WALTER DUKE. Your erudite, kindly, complimentary and well written comments re so much appreciate here, Walt, and not just by me. There was never a mention of molten gold being poured into the hollow interiors of the ceramic pieces. In fact, there was no mention of them being hollow, although they were and remain. The photos of the scene have all been taken of the real set, not pulled off the Internet. The pieces were filled with jeweler’s gold pellets. Small balls of solid gold about the size of a BB. If the gold have been poured in a molten state then the pieces would have had to be destroyed to get the gold out.Your 77 year old brain cells seem to be functioning more like a 12 cylinder Ferrari than the evolution two cylinder Harley motor. Hell, at least the Harley is American, or was until the company decided last week to take most of its production to Thailand. Thanks for the usual assortment of vaguely connected subjects you covered here. The firearm was a problem. Why they let me in and out of the embassy without frisking me was surprising too, since back then they didn’t have the detectors we have now. Forgetting you are ‘strapped’ unless in a position of danger and maybe having to take the Colt out, is a comment problem for agents carrying in the field that nobody talks about. Also, shooting someone aboard, almost no matter where, isn’t going to be criminal so much as an International incident. Not good. Thanks for everything Walt
and Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Mr. Strauss, Sir,
I find my mind focusing on Nguyen and the Nativity Scene. It seems like a long time ago that you first wrote about that. Didn’t he deliver that to Mary at your home in California? How long was it between then and when you saw him again in Korea?
Also, how would he have come to have that much gold? How would it get to be put into the Nativity set? Was it dust, pellets or solid (all I know about gold is that I have a wedding ring and it was expensive)? I seem to remember that he believed that a Christmas nativity set was important to you, and it makes sense to me that he would have trusted you to be able to look out for its safety. Was he maybe in Asia to get more gold? And now, are the guys at your phone booth as a result of you getting Nguyen out of the country?
Great writing, as usual, thank you for sharing your fascinating story.
As I portray in this last chapter, Keith, Nguyen and I spent so little ‘quiet’ time together I didn’t have the opportunity to really debrief him in detail and then there was the fact that he was not given to idle chatter at all. But there is more coming, as you probably already understand. Yes, he did deliver the set to my wife and yes, that was more complex than written so far. My wife has not always told me ‘everything’ just as I’ve withheld stuff from her, or lied about stuff, through the years. Real life.
Semper fi, and thanks for the compliment.
Jim
LT, the burning chopper comment brought back instant memories. While stationed in Tuy Hoa in one of two big hangers close to the airstrip a Chinook crashed backing into the revetment. It burned to the ground so fast it was unbelievable. Either the pilot or copilot died in the fire before anyone could do anything about it. It was over almost before it started. A sad day indeed.
Thermite is the name of a very intense explosive. The key elements causing the amazingly hot explosion, or very fast fire (which can be burn or explode at 4500 degrees…where steel melts at about 2500 and concrete 1500) The proper mix must be made of ground or powedered aluminum/magnisium and ground or powdered iron. Both of those can be generated by amateurs at home.
In the Falklands war the U.S. discovered, because it gave older aluminum hulled destroyers to Great Britain, that ships made of aluminum, when the metal’s brought to a high enough temperature, can burn so fast it’s astounding and terminal for the ships and everything around them. Such thermite explosives can be ignited with something as simple as a child’s sparkler! Hence the problems of using magnesium and aluminum in combat aircraft. The U.S. doesn’t build naval vessels out of aluminum anymore either. Thanks for the great informative comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
I started my fire service career in 1979. I am still active as a retired professional now volunteer chief and training officer.
Concrete does not melt. You may want to double check that one.
Monty, I don’t generally question critiques that have merit, and this one may have merit. I placed 11 lbs of thermite mixture under the
frame of a car once and lit it. The car burned beyond recognition, of course, but the surprising thing was the five in diameter hole
in the six inch concrete under it. Whether it melted or not is in question, given this quote from Wikipedia: “In general, when concrete is exposed to high temperatures, soot forms on the surface of the concrete at heating temperatures below 300 °C, the concrete surface turns pink, light gray, and light yellow at heating temperatures over 300 °C, and concrete melts at very high heating temperatures over 1200”. Wikipedia is not always right, however, so you might want to check that out before you come back on this issue. I shall await your return.
Semper fi, and thanks about writing of your own experience.
Jim
Saw a C130 go off the end of the runway in flames. Only thing recognizable left afterwards was the engines.
Our company also had a chinook that caught fire. The pilots managed to land it but were severely burned.
The magnesium and aluminum burn rates remain a problem in constructing things of such volatile materials. Titanium is
more expensive (by far) and much harder to work with. Maybe one day we’ll have metallic hydrogen.
Thanks for the comment.
Jim
And JT, no I’m not releasing the formula for the assembly of such a device on there. There was a book called the Anarchist’s Cookbook
produced in the early seventies, but likely banned today, that used to publish many explosive devices formulas.
Semper fi,
Jim
LT, I’m glad you not. That’s a need to know bases only.
Thanks JT. Sometimes I am rational in what to put up out there and on here.
Semper fi, and thanks for recognizing that.
Jim
You are on the phone with your handler, 2 officers are at your door, and Ho is waiting outside. This is going to get good.
In your comments many chapters ago, you had eluded to a return of Nyguen. I do hope that this reintroduction is not your last time seeing him.
The hollow shaft arrow used for message delivery….not subtle at all. They, whoever They are, assume correctly that you are powerful. Your amazing tact will need to come to life again.
We know that you survived to write these chapters. Thanks for taking us back for another ride.
Dear Todd, it was funny to come to understand that the Koreans of the time thought it was quite okay to shoot
an arrow close to a person in order to deliver a message without regard to the damage that even a bamboo arrow without a point might inflict if the arrow was marginally misdirected. Nguyen will be back time and again for quite awhile. Thanks for the great interested comment and the compliment of its writing.
Semper fi,
Jim
Had to read before day of viewing Windmills…somehow appropriate!
Good chapter, don’t know how we will get all the way to the end?
The rat moves radically across the maze.
Colonel Homan is on the river heading for Budapest aboard one of those long narrow river boats that ply the waters on
Europe’s interior, for those who might not know. Thanks Jim for chiming in as you motor along, checking out all the old windmills that populate both sides of the river (as well as the one’s I have love all over the Spanish island of Mallorca).
Semper fi, my good friend,
Jim
Jim,
First off, let us (Ok –me) know when books on “The Cowardly Lion” come out. Thank you.
Again, a bunch of ‘stuff’, but I’ll cut to the chase – You think you’re being arrested? Wearing a 45 rig? Can’t begin to even imagine what was rushing through your mind at 120 mph +. Were these folks even ‘real’ police or were they working for someone else – Like the folks in the black tail car or the master archer (Maybe one in the same?). Did they want to take you for a ‘ride’? Or maybe another part of the ‘test’ to see your reaction? Mary and the kids?
Ho gave you the “passenger bird” message, sans the bird, a message that you couldn’t understand but Ho seemed to translate – Someone of “power” (Govt, Secret police, Criminal?) was sending you a “gentle warning” because they think you are “powerful”. A warning about what? Your business with Porter +? And how would they know that? Your ‘cutting in’ on someone else’s territory? Somehow knowing that you’re CIA and a “gentle warning” to get the hell out of SK (Doubtful I think.)? Nguyen? Something about getting large sums of money from the bank?
Way too many thoughts/questions and I doubt that I have even scratched the surface. I realize you survived this ‘adventure’ (Duh), but really looking forward to the next chapter. (Then again, I’ve been doing that since starting “30 Days”.)
More later as this overrides other thoughts on this chapter that, at this point in time seem almost trivial.
Regards my friend,
Doug
Yes, Dough Danko, Major and more…it was a time of confusing mysteries some of which will be explained as we proceed while others
will not. I’m doing the best I can to include all the detail I can as the truth is in those details. Some readers see my work as a great piece of
continuing fiction although it’s anything but that…although fiction sometimes enters as a segue to other parts where I’ve lost a pint or two
in memory over time. Bridges over troubled waters, if you will.
Thanks for the usual brilliant and involved comment, not to mention the series of compliments.
Semper fi,
Jim
be calling from a more secure line at the embassy but I didn’t want (missing words?)
The fuzz are at the door- oh boy no joy !!
Good grief, what comes next has to be interesting , keep ’em comin James 😉
Thanks for the usual help with the editing here.
And the compliment, of course.
Semper fi,
Jim
James
you are my brother and I love and trust as only Marines can trust each other.
given that caveat if I didn’t know you I would say that you are writing the best fiction in the world
it is captivating it is coherent and man as it dramatic
your first adventure is a doozy and frankly I think if this were my first adventure for the CIA I would be home cashing in my manger
what a fabulous tale!
The thing that just leaves out at me is how different communications were then then they are now not that you still don’t need to have security and all the adjacent precautions but even the simple fact of you have to get someone to connect a call for you and I remember those days
just blows me away &
I can’t wait for the next chapter which I hope will create joy in the valley and snow in the shoes
my friend I always knew you were smart I always knew you were clever but I never knew what a wonderful writer you are
it is truly amazing that you have all this talent and you are sharing it with others
Thanks my friend Richard! It’s nice to be so highly considered by someone so highly considered himself. My anxiety and motivation to get home and check out the nativity set was pretty high, I must admit, although it was difficult to consider what was to be done with whatever was to be found inside the pieces. Also, the set had a very deep symbolic meaning and I didn’t want to lose that. I’d returned from the war with nothing from the war nor anything but medals and ribbons from any other source, excepting of course the fabulous medical care. All the emotion of the time still plays through my mind from time to time. I just the former president yesterday on television running down those who have won Medals of Honor. Astoundingly, it made me feel that I was glad I hadn’t gotten that one…and what a shameful position to have such thoughts. How do we get men to serve if we don’t value their service when they come home? Oh, they’ll go alright, but they won’t do the things that it takes to actually accomplish the mission…and then what. Why can’t they just leave the military out of the elective process right now? Just my thoughts as I pursue laying down the story of my own life. Thanks for the compliments and the steady course of your friendship.
Semper fi,
Jim
You are obviously an exceptional man who has led a serendipitous and exciting life. The ability to recall the details and emotions of the moment is a gift! Thanks as always for sharing that gift! Semper Fi my friend!
Thanks Jack for the great compliment as written in this comment and your friendship, as well.
Yes, the gift of this memory is significant and would be even valued higher if it came with a ‘delete’ button like on this laptop.
But I am laying it down as best as I can and much appreciate that being noticed.
Semper fi,
Jim
I enjoy reading everything you write , thank you for what you do. I think Nguyen will be back and more suspense is coming .
William, I seldom write about what may be coming because that can be a spoiler for those
waiting to see how it is playing out contiguously. No, we’re not done with Nguyen yet though.
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow ! Had guessed this would happen… Thanks for such an exciting chapter.
abroad is a very valuable bit of information and will well for thousands of US dollars.
* will sell
The Nativity scene figures. Why didn’t you return for the what’s in them
* you return for what’s in them
We would not likely have our companies, the ambassador would get
* We would likely have
would have much preferred to be calling from a more secure line at the embassy but I didn’t want
* “didn’t want” …what??
Americans would have a long way to go in catching up to this port war Korea in hospitality care and manners.
* post war
Thanks for the help Don!!!!
Semper fi
Jim
Wow, Jim – another chapter action-packed and full of mystique!
Should have waited all this time with the gold, now over $2,400 oz T.
Those military sergeants seem to be worth their weight in gold for sure. Very knowledgeable gents!
Breathlessly waiting the next chapter to see if you are in a Korean jail, or trying to write policies for the gendarmes. A toss-up right now, but you do not seem to be doing any harm to their Republic.
Craig, could not write policies for anybody abroad at that time, as it would require licensing in the country I was in. It took years for insurance companies to make inroads to do that. Medical insurance was basically unregulated, however but thanks for bringing up the subject. I used the life insurance sales presentation to get rid of pesky people or people who suspected me of not being what I said I was. To escape, if you will. Non-coms throughout the military services are underrated and yet so many perform so well. Russia has and demonstrates a real disadvantage by not hving non-coms. Thanks for the great comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Another cliffhanger like in 30 days James minus the carnage. I hope your “secure” phone was indeed secure when you were telling Mary about the Nativity figurines. What I would really like to find out is what you alluded to when when you wondered how and when Nguyen was able to make it to the States and become so fluent in English and, I’m assuming, get employed by the Agency.
Nguyen was not an employee of the Agency. He was made an asset of the Agency, which is an entirely different role.
There were no truly ‘secure’ telephones back then and there may not be now.
Thanks for the comment and being who and what you are.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Whoops!!! The plot takes a twist, trying to figure out why they were doing this? As you are an American in a country friendly to ours. At least we know you made it out alive.
Being in allied countries isn’t what many people think it is Pete.
The rules and laws one has to know and not violate are arcane and endless in complexity.
It all depends on what allied country one might find oneself in as to how transgressions will be treated…if discovered before you can get out of the country.
I still have seven that I can’t go back to, not without risk, anyway.
That’s more countries than most people have ever been to.
Semper fi,
Jim