This is a work of fiction. Names of characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously; any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Dennis Milholland – All rights reserved. Other than for private, not-for-profit use, no part of this work may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in any form or by any means, other than that intended by the author, without written permission from the copyright holder.

Careful! This is a work of fiction containing graphic descriptions of sex between males and critiques of religion and governments. And last but not least, Nifty would like your donations.

Farewell, Uncle Ho

by Dennis Milholland

questions and comments are welcome. www.milholland.eu / dennis@milholland.eu

Chapter 85 (Thurs., July 13, 1967)

Yvette, who'd known Jules since childhood, wasn't even slightly hesitant to give him the keys to the courtyard, so the black Ford Vendôme could hide from nosy passers-by out on the sidewalk. Our landlady decided to come over to our place, to see what was going on. And having given my Dubonnet and gin only a cursory glance, Linh hurried to the kitchen to return with one for her and a refill for Gerry.

She glanced at her watch. "It's only a bit too early to start drinking, but since you've beaten up a CIA agent, I think we can overlook the time." Her English was immaculate and Gerry understood that she was using it for his sake. She raised her glass to no one in particular. "Oh. This is nice."

Gerry raised his glass and drank. "You're sure that he's CIA?"

"Quite." She took another sip. "He was very close to Lucien Conein, who used this place for meetings before June and Earl lived here, and then again after they returned to America. And Lucien never made a secret of the fact that he was CIA. He even boasted that he'd secured the forty-two thousand dollars to pay off the assassins of Diem."

Gerry extended his foot, and kicked the man again. "Okay, Shit-Stick, out with it. Are you CIA?"

"Fuck you!"

"You know that your SERE training isn't going to be worth jack shit, once Charlie gets you?" Gerry chuckled at something he knew and the rest of us didn't.

Yvette frowned slightly. "What's SERE training?"

To be honest, I'd never heard of it before, either. So, I shrugged. But Gerry knew. "Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape. It's specialized training for people at high risk of getting captured." Gerry laughed tauntingly. "And when the VC gets him, the training is going to be just this side of useless."

A gurgling sound came from the floor, again, which was supposed to have been a laugh. "You ain't got the balls to turn me over to the Viet Cong. No American would be able to do that."

Gerry and I laughed, playing off one another, until we almost hit hysteria. "Oh," Gerry snorted. "and, uh, who the Fuck told you that we're American?"

***

When Jules came back upstairs, he was being accompanied by two well-groomed gentlemen in business suits. Of course, they weren't exactly my idea of Viet Cong, but then again, what did I know? The older of the two approached the man on the floor and stated in educated American English, from the sound, bordering on native speaker: "It would appear that the gentleman is in need of medical attention." He paused for a second. "If we were going to let him live, that is." He glanced at my hand. "Did you do this?"

I grinned and nodded.

"Excellent start." He chuckled to himself, as he turned to the intruder and motioned to leave. "Shall we?"

"Fuck you!" He spat his answer for emphasis.

Without any warning, the well-groomed representative of the NLF drew what appeared to be an M1911 with a silencer and fired one shot into the CIA agent's crotch. As it turned out, it was a pneumatic pistol, which did not cause serious injury through the clothes. So, there was no extra blood to clean up. All the same, though, the pellet must have hurt like Hell, to judge by the man's reaction. Consequently, our intruder got the message and slowly got up off the floor.

Replacing the pistol into the shoulder holster, he handed me his business card. "Should you have any further problems give me a ring, day or night." I certainly looked confused. "Don't worry, Dr. Loughery," Now, that got my attention, since no one had mentioned my name. "M^me Duras pays your and Mr. Helmstedter's insurance with twenty five dollars of your monthly rent."

Since this stank of a racket, I didn't know if I should say anything. And the well-groomed Mr. Chung, appeared to read minds. "No, Dr. Loughery, this is not an American-style, mafia-protection scam. If you choose not to take advantage of our services, so be it. There will be no reprisals."

"So, you belong to a tong?" was the only thing I could think to say.

His chuckle was benevolent; the pat he gave my shoulder was kind, fatherly. "National liberation is a tad more serious than a game of Mahjong." He strode toward the door. "Madame, messieurs."

***

"Let me go get the box, he left behind." Yvette dashed for the door.

"Wonder what the things are." Gerry sounded hopeful. "Maybe, it's a box of answers."

"More likely a bomb." Jules' shaky speech was hardly devoid of humor.

Yvette returned with a large cardboard box, which luckily was open at the top. The flaps were just folded into themselves. So, we were able to rule out a bomb. She set it down on the low coffee table and moved back quickly. Everyone was looking around the table, wondering who was going to start. Yvette's voice was ceremoniously low, rising just above the quiet hum of the ceiling fan and the buzz of motor scooters in the evening city traffic. "Commencez-vous, monsieur Loughery."

"You never had a look?" I was in total disbelief, since that would have been the first thing I'd have done.

Yvette looked at me with trepidation. "I don't have to know everything."

I carefully opened the top flaps. The box appeared to be full of documents. We were looking at a huge pile of scrapbook contents, minus the book. On top, the owner had left a letter.

I stood and went to the bay windows for better light to read. 'McPherson,' I look at Yvette. "Could that intruder have been McPherson?" She shrugged, and I returned to the note. 'If you have this in your possession, I have been killed, captured, or circumstances have forced me out of the service here. Nonetheless, make no mistake, I did leave this box behind for a reason.

'Its contents should provide irrefutable evidence that John Kennedy ordered Diem and Nhu killed because they were negotiating secretly with Ho Chi Minh in New Deli without having involved the United States, and which could have ended the war too early, endangering JFK's re-election in '64.

'Use the contents wisely, since it reveals truth, which is a rare commodity during days of war. Then, truth is always war's first casualty.

"Signed: 'Lucien E. Conein, Saigon, November 1st, 1966'."

Linh arrived with a tray of drinks, again Dubonnet and gin, lacking two for a full round. This time, however, with a small announcement that the Dubonnet bottle was empty, so perhaps gin and tonic, whisky or beer. I told him a gin and tonic would be fine.

"What kind of beer?" Gerry was looking hopeful that it was anything other than American. He'd told me during basic that the reason he didn't drink was that American beer was too bitter, since it was brewed with rice. And I would have been surprised if Vietnamese beer wasn't brewed with rice, as well.

"Ba muoi ba or pisse de tigre." Linh managed to keep a deadpan face, while the rest of us laughed.

"Est-pisse de tigre acide ?" Yvette and I applauded Gerry's first sentence in French, and Linh nodded. "And the other?" Gerry wanted to know; Linh shook his head. "The other, please." Gerry gave me a wink.

Getting back on topic, I turned to Yvette. "Has this apartment been vacant since last November?"

"No, since the beginning of December; he'd paid the rent until the end of June this year." Yvette sipped on her drink. "It wouldn't have been correct for me to give it to someone else, before that. What would I have done, had he come back?"

"And when did you remove the box?" I was trying to establish a timeframe.

"On July first." She glanced at the now-opened box. "You know, on the one hand, I feel as if I'll live to regret this, but on the other, I can't resist."

***

The documents in the box had been arranged in chronological layers. The first batch had to do with the assassination of South-Vietnamese President Diem and his brother, Nhu, on 2 November 1963. And the second batch had to do with planning the assassination of President Kennedy, twenty days later. Both stacks were detailed and would require our full attention, but not just then, since it was getting late. The eleven o'clock curfew was rapidly approaching.

Beneath the two stacks, however, I discovered what appeared to be a false bottom. And the only reason that I'd found it was that the flaps under the documents were sealed from inside by packaging tape. I'd lifted the box and found that the flaps underneath had been folded into each other, before having been taped shut, as they'd been on top but had not been sealed. From inside, on the other hand, they'd just been folded over and taped shut. Consequently, they couldn't be the same flaps.

I had to ask Linh for a paring knife, since I had no idea where he kept things in the kitchen, which I used to detach the false bottom. Under the false flaps were three envelopes of varying sizes. On the one was written CI Langley - Diem and Nhu $42K and on the first of the other two was CI Rome - JFK . $50K. On the third were full names $58K from M^me Nhu and Archbishop Pierre Martin Ngo - JFK.

I slit open the three envelopes, to check if the amounts were actually in them. All eyes were on my hands as I counted the eighty four $500 bills from the Diem and Nhu envelope. As soon as I finished, I froze. "Oh, shit!"

"What's wrong." Gerry was the first one to react.

"This is the CIA's money to pay for the assassination of Diem and Nhu, and they're all $500 bills."

"Okay." Gerry shrugged. "So?"

"Maybe it's coincidence," I showed everybody one of the banknotes. "but the portrait is of McKinley, the 25th president and the last one assassinated before Kennedy, who was the 35th."

Gerry shook with a chill. "Check to see what's in the envelope from the CIA station in Rome to have Kennedy killed."

I slit it open and took out the $500 bills and held them up. "Sure enough."

***

We'd counted the money and divided it between the five of us, since we'd all been in on the discovery. But the time it had taken to convince Yvette that it was not blood money, then it hadn't gone to pay any assassin or it wouldn't still be here, it was already 2320 hours. And Jules was no longer allowed out on the streets to go home.

When Yvette left for her place across the landing, Linh moved in to be next to Gerry, claiming his need for protection for the night. I smiled somewhat self-consciously at Jules. "Looks like you'll be sharing with me." He nodded and blushed.

Getting ready to take a shower, he seemed to be shy, if not prudish. He had his back turned to me, while he undressed. Hearing the water running from Linh's shower off the kitchen, I knew that he and Gerry would not be using the en-suite bath.

Jules motioned for me to use the shower first; I insisted on showering together. "We were told that we should conserve water."

His grin told me that he was alright with the concept, and his growing cock confirmed my suspicions. "Do you want this?" My nod was all that was necessary. "May I take you from behind?" Again, nothing more than a nod was required.

His cock was rock solid as it eased its way past the expanding, circular, outer-ring muscle, sliding back his skin, to bunch up around the outside of my hole, as he entered. His copious, pre-ejaculate fluids assisted him in slowly maneuvering his way further inside me until he reached the hilt. His fur tickled the sensitive skin located on the protected inside, between my ass cheeks; the front of his balls tickled the back of mine.

Buried deep, he pulled out a little and pushed hurriedly back in, as if he were afraid of being expelled. Then he established a slow, sensuous rhythm, telling me that this was going to take a while, as I turned off the taps.