Denis Johnson - Tree of Smoke

Mannlicher, I’ll spot for you.” “You’re saying we’re not within the guidelines.” “Yeah. Adapt and improvise.” “Skip? What say?”

“I’ll drive the getaway car.” “We’re not shooting the Blessed Virgin.” “Should I wait to be told? Or should I ask?” “We’re here to discuss a hypothetical.” “Not an assassination.” “No. God, no.” “Along the lines of a deception operation?” “So you remember our previous chat about this kind of thing. Our

hypothetical chat.” “You talked about a double. A hypothetical double.” Mr. Tho came in with a tray of cups and two pots and poured coffee

for the Americans and tea for Nguyen Hao. As he departed he herded

the dog from the room with the side of his foot. The colonel worried his coffee with the spoon. “What is this stuff?” “Creamer? That’s powdered creamer.” “Powdered cream?”

JNo— creamer. “Lord, it doesn’t dissolve. What is it made of? Clay?” “Hao brought it. I assume Mrs. Diu asked for it.” “Jesus Christ. It tastes like somebody’s armpit.” “Seems like it’s been around for years,” Storm said. “It kind of snuck

up on civilization.”

“Engineers could build a substantial dam out of this stuff. They could hold back mighty waters. Now. As to our ruse de guerre. The operation.”

“The double. The hypothetical double.” “His status has shifted.” “How much can you tell me?” “He’s a walk-in. He had his toe in and out for quite a while. But when

Tet came, he dove headfirst. He’s ours. If we use him, we use him long-range and short-run. So we can keep this a family op. Are you needing some information?”

“Family op. The family is … ” “Just the three of us here, and Hao’s nephew Minh, my helicopter pi

lot. Lucky. You’ve met him. Lucky, and the three of us.” Storm said, “And Pitchfork.” “And Pitchfork, if we need him. Pitchfork’s in-country.”

“I thought the Brits were out of this.”

“They’ve got a couple of SAS teams here in New Zealand uniforms. And a few specialists wearing Green Berets. So Anders is here. He was SAS for years.”

“Now, long-run but short-range’—what does that mean?”

“Long-range, I said, but short-run. We’ll send him back north for a onetime op, delivering some deception material. This is the operation I brought you out for, Skip. Operation Tree of Smoke.”

The colonel waited for Skip to adjust to this news. Skip experienced no excitement. Only the lethargy and sadness of a

man freezing to death. “How far outside the guidelines are we?” “Guidelines don’t apply to hypotheticals. We’re brainstorming.” “Then you don’t mind if I play the role of Dimmer a little?” “Go ahead. We need a Devil’s advocate.” “I think in this case, the Devil is you.” Storm said, “Skipper’s on the side of the angels.” “He’s asking the hard questions. Somebody has to. Go ahead. What

would Dimmer say?” “I can tell you exactly what questions he’d ask. Or anyway the impor

tant ones—the ones that leap out at me.” “For instance.” “Can you control his commo both ways?” “No. We won’t even try. This is a onetime, one-way operation. He

can blow this particular op and nothing else. We give him nothing else.” “And if he blows it? If he’s a fake?” The colonel shrugged. “Nothing ventured. Next question.” “Has he told you everything? Or at least enough to start testing him

by polygraph? How’s your information?” “Nebulous at this point. We’re still in the process of initial assess

ment. You’ll be the IO on this one.” “Me?” ”You’re not here for jollies. You’re the interviewing officer.” Skip took a deep, involuntary breath and let it out. “So.” “So—next question.” “I guess this one’s already been answered: How far along is the

process? Has he been polygraphed? But we’ll do that later.” “I don’t want polygraphs. I don’t trust those things.”

“Dimmer says to test continually. ‘Polygraph early and often/ “

“No polygraph. There’s only one way to vet a man, and that’s with blood. He’s given us the blood of his comrades. That’s better than any machine can tell us.”

“Why not both?” “Only blood will tell. He needs to feel we trust him. And do you trust

me? Can you go with my judgment on this?” “Yes, sir. No polygraph.” “Thank you, Skip. It means a lot.” The colonel wiped his upper lip

with a finger. By a kind of inner wilting, and a sinking of the sun in his expression, he managed to convey that trust in his judgment was at a premium. “What else?”

“The jackpot question.” “Shoot, sir.” “Have you reported the case?” The colonel shrugged. “Let me get the article.” Skip rose to his feet. “Up jumped the Devil,” Storm said. Though it was classified, he kept it on the desk. “He’s got a list of do’s

and don’t’s,” he said when he returned. “Number Ten.” “Don’t stand, please.” Skip resumed his seat. “Number Ten: ‘Do not plan a deception oper

ation or pass deception material without prior headquarters approval.’ ” “This is what I’m talking about,” Storm said. “But what the fuck.” “Twenty: ‘Report the case frequently, quickly, and in detail …’ Let’s

see here. All right, the Devil speaks loud and clear: ‘The service and officer considering a double agent possibility must weigh net national advantage thoughtfully, never forgetting that a double agent is, in effect, a condoned channel of communication with the enemy.’ What we’re discussing amounts to an unauthorized liaison.”

“I like ‘self-authorized.’ ” “A self-authorized liaison with the enemy.” The colonel said, “Hao, will you get me some real milk somewhere

on earth, please?” Hao left the room. The colonel sat up straight, hands on his knees. “Nobody in this

room has ever met the hypothetical fella. No liaison as of yet, as such.”

“Colonel, sir, as long as it’s just us for a minute.” “Right. Go ahead.” “I understand it’s a family op and all that. But should we necessarily

be talking in front of Hao?” “Hao? At this point Hao knows more than we do. He brought our

man in. He was the initial contact.” “What do we really know about him?” “Really? What do we really know about anybody in this hall of mir

rors?” “Really nothing.” “Ten-four. Here’s a rule of thumb: trust the locals. Have I ever told

you that?” “Plenty.” “You can’t trust everyone in this country, but we’ve got to trust some

body. We go by our guts. And I can tell you this,” he said, as Hao returned with a small pitcher, “I just asked for milk and here it is. And that’s how everything always works with Mr. Hao.” Hao sat down and the colonel said, “Mr. Hao, we’re planning a self-authorized national deception operation. Are you with us?”

” ‘Zeckly,” Hao said. “Good enough?” the colonel asked Skip. “Plenty good.” “More questions?” “That’s the lot,” Skip said. “Fine.” The colonel took from his breast pocket a half dozen three

by-five note cards of the kind Skip had handled all too often, and began a presentation. “It’s out of the bag: a national deception operation. But it can’t be any kind of op unless it comes with a plan. Let’s move to that phase of the hypothetical. How do we get bogus product credibly into the hands of the enemy? Specifically into Uncle Ho’s hands? Through a plant who allows himself to be captured and tortured? Through a double who ‘steals’ phony documents? An almost impossible task, but a combination of those two would be nearly ideal. Coming from separate sources, its credibility would be enhanced.”