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unofficial investigation. You’ll go over as a tourist, a returning veteran, like thousands of other men—”
    “You mean I wouldn’t have any official status or diplomatic immunity?”
    “We would come to your aid, if you got into trouble.”
    I asked, “What kind of aid? Like smuggling poison into my cell?”
    “No, like having an embassy person visit you if you were detained, plus, of course, we’d lodge an official protest.”
    “That’s very reassuring, but I don’t think I want to see the inside of a Communist prison, Karl. I have two friends who spent a lot of years in the Hanoi Hilton. They didn’t like it.”
    “If you ran afoul of the authorities, they’d just kick you out.”
    “Can I tell them you said that?”
    Hellmann didn’t reply.
    I thought a moment and said, “I’m assuming that the Vietnam Veterans
of America has sent the original of this letter to Hanoi as part of their humanitarian program to help the North Vietnamese learn the fate of their dead and missing. Therefore, Hanoi will locate the family of the deceased Tran Quan Lee, and they will know if his brother, Tran Van Vinh, is alive and where he is. Correct? So, why don’t you go through normal diplomatic channels, and let the Hanoi government do what it does best—keep track of its miserable citizens.”
    Hellmann informed me, “Actually, we’ve asked the VVA not to send that letter to Hanoi.”
    I knew that, but I asked, “Why?”
    “Well . . . There are a number of reasons we thought it best that Hanoi didn’t see the letter at this time.”
    “Give me one of those reasons.”
    “The less they know, the better. The same is true for you.”
    We made eye contact, and I realized that there was more to this than a thirty-year-old murder. There had to be, or none of this would make any sense. But I didn’t ask anything further. I said, “Okay, I’ve heard too much already. Thanks for your confidence in me, but no thanks.”
    “What are you afraid of ?”
    “Don’t try that on me, Karl. I’ve put my life on the line for this country many times. But this is not worth my life, or anyone’s life. It’s history. Let it be.”
    “It’s a matter of justice.”
    “This has nothing to do with justice. It’s something else, and since I don’t know what it is, I’m not putting my ass into Vietnam for a reason that no one’s telling me. The last two times I was there, I knew why.”
    “We thought we knew why. They lied to us. No one’s lying to you this time. We’re just not telling you why. But trust me that this is very important.”
    “That’s what they said then, too.”
    “I won’t argue with that.”
    The sun had almost set, and a cold wind was starting to blow. We were nearly alone, and both of us stood silently with our thoughts. Finally, Karl Hellmann said in a soft voice, “It is twilight. The shadows are long.” He looked at me. “The shadows stretch from there to here, Paul. That’s all I can tell you.”
    I didn’t reply.
    A man appeared dressed in an old fatigue jacket, wearing a bush hat. He
was about our age, but looked older because of a full gray beard. He put a bugle to his lips and played taps. As the last mournful note died away in the wind, the man faced the Wall, saluted, and moved off.
    Karl and I lingered a moment longer, then Hellmann said, “All right, I understand. It could be a bit risky, and middle-aged men don’t risk their lives for something that could be foolish or useless. To tell you the truth, this man Tran Van Vinh is most likely dead, or even if he were alive, he probably wouldn’t be helpful. Come on, let me buy you a drink. There’s that place you like on Twenty-third Street.”
    We walked in silence through the Mall, and Hellmann asked, “May I at least show you the letter?”
    “Which one do I see? The love letter or the real one?”
    “The translation of Tran Van Vinh’s letter.”
    “A true and complete translation?”
    Karl didn’t reply.
    I said to