One of the operatives had a month's leave coming and had in any case intended to whoop it up in the United States for a while. He went, took the message with him, and brought it to Washington. Carefully, he placed it in the lap of the Department and it was their baby now.
The Department was as helpless as the Saigon people were. They brooded over it, discussed it, dared not throw it away lest it be their butt in a sling—and they, unlike the Saigon people, had no one to whom to pass the buck.
Two entire weeks passed before someone finally took the chance of saying, "Let's ask Griswold!"
I can understand the hesitation. They knew my opinion of the Vietnam war and they had the definite feeling I wasn't to be trusted in matters relating to it. But now they had nowhere else to turn. If they had only understood that as little as three days before.
They found me, brought me in, and put the entire case before me. What they wanted me to say was that in my expert opinion they might as well consider it a garbled message; that you can't get something out of nothing; and to forget it. Then, if the worst came to the worst, it would be my skin that would be separated from my body.
Before I got into that position, however, I demanded to see the man from Vietnam, who was still in the country.
I said, "Tell me about the Hue agent, the one who disappeared. Are you sure he was captured and to be presumed dead? Are you sure he wasn't Vietcong all the time; that he finally didn't decide he had had enough, sent off nonsense and joined his friends?"
"No, no," said the other, "I don't think that's possible at all. His wife and children had been killed in North Vietnam rather atrociously and he wanted his revenge. Besides—" he grinned, "he had a thing about his command of the English language. Sometimes I think that held him to us more than anything else. He might desert us, he might forget his passion for revenge, but he would never give up the chance of lecturing Americans and Englishmen on their own language. Not that we listened, of course. On the few occasions I met with him clandestinely, he was unbearably tedious on the subject."
"For instance?"
"I scarcely remember. He always said that all languages were ambiguous, but that native speakers were so used to the ambiguities they never paid attention. Like that."
"Did he give examples?"
"I don't remember."
"Well now, we have here '13 THP/2NDL' for thirteenth page, second line. Why the extra letters? Wouldn't 13/2' have been enough?"
"Hey," said the man from Vietnam, "he always did use that combination, but your questions have reminded me. He claimed that was ambiguous."
"The 13/2?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"He didn't say—I don't think he said." "So he sent it off in this version to prove it was ambiguous?"
"I don't see that. It's the same thing, with or without the letters. Thirteenth page, second line."
"Not at all," I said, and explained. He stared at me as though I were crazy.
I was right, of course. With the new key, the message decoded beautifully, and the full details of the forthcoming Tet offensive lay before us.
Except it wasn't forthcoming; it took place on that very day and we were caught flat-footed.
"But what are you talking about?" I demanded in astonishment as Griswold returned to his drink and seemed to lapse into deep thought. "What did the phrase mean if not '13th page, 2nd line'?"
Griswold said, "No problem. That's what it meant. And they were using the right book. It was just that the agent realized the phrase was ambiguous and lent itself to misinterpretation. And with a little thought I could see what he meant, as I think anyone should."
"But / don't," I said.
"So think a little. The lines on a page aren't numbered so '2nd line' means 'line 2' counting from the top in the conventional way. No problem. However, pages are numbered and that produces the confusion since '13th page' is not necessarily 'page 13.'"
Baranov said quite loudly, "Griswold, you've
The Department was as helpless as the Saigon people were. They brooded over it, discussed it, dared not throw it away lest it be their butt in a sling—and they, unlike the Saigon people, had no one to whom to pass the buck.
Two entire weeks passed before someone finally took the chance of saying, "Let's ask Griswold!"
I can understand the hesitation. They knew my opinion of the Vietnam war and they had the definite feeling I wasn't to be trusted in matters relating to it. But now they had nowhere else to turn. If they had only understood that as little as three days before.
They found me, brought me in, and put the entire case before me. What they wanted me to say was that in my expert opinion they might as well consider it a garbled message; that you can't get something out of nothing; and to forget it. Then, if the worst came to the worst, it would be my skin that would be separated from my body.
Before I got into that position, however, I demanded to see the man from Vietnam, who was still in the country.
I said, "Tell me about the Hue agent, the one who disappeared. Are you sure he was captured and to be presumed dead? Are you sure he wasn't Vietcong all the time; that he finally didn't decide he had had enough, sent off nonsense and joined his friends?"
"No, no," said the other, "I don't think that's possible at all. His wife and children had been killed in North Vietnam rather atrociously and he wanted his revenge. Besides—" he grinned, "he had a thing about his command of the English language. Sometimes I think that held him to us more than anything else. He might desert us, he might forget his passion for revenge, but he would never give up the chance of lecturing Americans and Englishmen on their own language. Not that we listened, of course. On the few occasions I met with him clandestinely, he was unbearably tedious on the subject."
"For instance?"
"I scarcely remember. He always said that all languages were ambiguous, but that native speakers were so used to the ambiguities they never paid attention. Like that."
"Did he give examples?"
"I don't remember."
"Well now, we have here '13 THP/2NDL' for thirteenth page, second line. Why the extra letters? Wouldn't 13/2' have been enough?"
"Hey," said the man from Vietnam, "he always did use that combination, but your questions have reminded me. He claimed that was ambiguous."
"The 13/2?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"He didn't say—I don't think he said." "So he sent it off in this version to prove it was ambiguous?"
"I don't see that. It's the same thing, with or without the letters. Thirteenth page, second line."
"Not at all," I said, and explained. He stared at me as though I were crazy.
I was right, of course. With the new key, the message decoded beautifully, and the full details of the forthcoming Tet offensive lay before us.
Except it wasn't forthcoming; it took place on that very day and we were caught flat-footed.
"But what are you talking about?" I demanded in astonishment as Griswold returned to his drink and seemed to lapse into deep thought. "What did the phrase mean if not '13th page, 2nd line'?"
Griswold said, "No problem. That's what it meant. And they were using the right book. It was just that the agent realized the phrase was ambiguous and lent itself to misinterpretation. And with a little thought I could see what he meant, as I think anyone should."
"But / don't," I said.
"So think a little. The lines on a page aren't numbered so '2nd line' means 'line 2' counting from the top in the conventional way. No problem. However, pages are numbered and that produces the confusion since '13th page' is not necessarily 'page 13.'"
Baranov said quite loudly, "Griswold, you've
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