I will not be able to bring in any—”
“The diplomatic pouch goes out twice a week. Next drop is in three days. I’ll see what weapons I can slip through. Until then, you’ll have to improvise.”
Siang fell silent, wondering how it would feel to once again walk the streets of Saigon. And he wondered about Chantal. How many years had it been since he’d seen her? Did she still hate him for leaving her behind? Of course, she would; she never forgot a grudge. Somehow, he’d have to work his way back into her affections. He didn’t think that would be too difficult. Life in the new Vietnam must be hard these days, especially for a woman. Chantal liked her comforts; for a few precious luxuries, she might do anything. Even sell her soul.
She was a woman he could understand.
He looked across the table. “There will be expenses.”
The man nodded. “I can be generous. As you well know.”
Already Siang was making a mental list of what he’d need. Old clothes—frayed shirts and faded trousers—so he wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. Cigarettes, soap and razor blades for bartering favors on the streets. And then he’d need a few special gifts for Chantal….
He nodded. The bargain was struck.
“One more thing,” said the man as he rose to leave.
“Yes?”
“Other…parties seem to be involved. The Company, for instance. I wouldn’t want to pull that particular tiger’s tail. So keep bloodshed to a minimum. Only the woman dies. No one else.”
“I understand.”
After the man had left, Siang sat alone at the corner table, thinking. Remembering Saigon. Had it really been fifteen years? His last memories of the city were of panicked faces, of hands clawing frantically at a helicopter door, of the roar of chopper blades and the swirl of dust as the rooftops fell away.
Siang took a deep swallow of vodka and stood to leave. Just then, whistles and applause rose from the crowd gathered around the dance stage. A lone girl stood brown and naked in the spotlight. Around her waist was wrapped an eight-foot boa constrictor. The girl seemed to shudder as the snake slithered down between her thighs. The men shouted their approval.
Siang grinned. Ah, the Bong Bong Club. Always something new.
Saigon
F ROM THE ROOFTOP GARDEN of the Rex Hotel, Willy watched the bicycles thronging the intersection of Le Loi and Nguyen Hue. A collision seemed inevitable, only a matter of time. Riders whisked through at breakneck speed, blithely ignoring the single foolhardy pedestrian inching fearfully across the street. Willy was so intent on silently cheering the man on that she scarcely registered the monotonous voice of her government escort.
“And tomorrow, we will take you by car to see the National Palace, where the puppet government ruled in luxury, then on to the Museum of History, where you will learn about our struggles against the Chinese and the French imperialists. The next day, you will see our lacquer factory, where you can buy many beautiful gifts to bring home. And then—”
“Mr. Ainh,” Willy said with a sigh, turning at last to her guide. “It all sounds very fascinating, this tour you’ve planned. But have you looked into my other business?”
Ainh blinked. Though his frame was chopstick thin, he had a cherubic face made owlish by his thick glasses. “Miss Maitland,” he said in a hurt voice, “I have arranged a private car! And many wonderful meals.”
“Yes, I appreciate that, but—”
“You are unhappy with your itinerary?”
“To be perfectly honest, I don’t really care about a tour. I want to find out about my father.”
“But you have paid for a tour! We must provide one.”
“I paid for the tour to get a visa. Now that I’m here, I need to talk to the right people. You can arrange that for me, can’t you?”
Ainh shifted nervously. “This is a…a complication. I do not know if I can…that is, it is not what I…” He drifted into helpless silence.
“Some months ago, I wrote
“The diplomatic pouch goes out twice a week. Next drop is in three days. I’ll see what weapons I can slip through. Until then, you’ll have to improvise.”
Siang fell silent, wondering how it would feel to once again walk the streets of Saigon. And he wondered about Chantal. How many years had it been since he’d seen her? Did she still hate him for leaving her behind? Of course, she would; she never forgot a grudge. Somehow, he’d have to work his way back into her affections. He didn’t think that would be too difficult. Life in the new Vietnam must be hard these days, especially for a woman. Chantal liked her comforts; for a few precious luxuries, she might do anything. Even sell her soul.
She was a woman he could understand.
He looked across the table. “There will be expenses.”
The man nodded. “I can be generous. As you well know.”
Already Siang was making a mental list of what he’d need. Old clothes—frayed shirts and faded trousers—so he wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. Cigarettes, soap and razor blades for bartering favors on the streets. And then he’d need a few special gifts for Chantal….
He nodded. The bargain was struck.
“One more thing,” said the man as he rose to leave.
“Yes?”
“Other…parties seem to be involved. The Company, for instance. I wouldn’t want to pull that particular tiger’s tail. So keep bloodshed to a minimum. Only the woman dies. No one else.”
“I understand.”
After the man had left, Siang sat alone at the corner table, thinking. Remembering Saigon. Had it really been fifteen years? His last memories of the city were of panicked faces, of hands clawing frantically at a helicopter door, of the roar of chopper blades and the swirl of dust as the rooftops fell away.
Siang took a deep swallow of vodka and stood to leave. Just then, whistles and applause rose from the crowd gathered around the dance stage. A lone girl stood brown and naked in the spotlight. Around her waist was wrapped an eight-foot boa constrictor. The girl seemed to shudder as the snake slithered down between her thighs. The men shouted their approval.
Siang grinned. Ah, the Bong Bong Club. Always something new.
Saigon
F ROM THE ROOFTOP GARDEN of the Rex Hotel, Willy watched the bicycles thronging the intersection of Le Loi and Nguyen Hue. A collision seemed inevitable, only a matter of time. Riders whisked through at breakneck speed, blithely ignoring the single foolhardy pedestrian inching fearfully across the street. Willy was so intent on silently cheering the man on that she scarcely registered the monotonous voice of her government escort.
“And tomorrow, we will take you by car to see the National Palace, where the puppet government ruled in luxury, then on to the Museum of History, where you will learn about our struggles against the Chinese and the French imperialists. The next day, you will see our lacquer factory, where you can buy many beautiful gifts to bring home. And then—”
“Mr. Ainh,” Willy said with a sigh, turning at last to her guide. “It all sounds very fascinating, this tour you’ve planned. But have you looked into my other business?”
Ainh blinked. Though his frame was chopstick thin, he had a cherubic face made owlish by his thick glasses. “Miss Maitland,” he said in a hurt voice, “I have arranged a private car! And many wonderful meals.”
“Yes, I appreciate that, but—”
“You are unhappy with your itinerary?”
“To be perfectly honest, I don’t really care about a tour. I want to find out about my father.”
“But you have paid for a tour! We must provide one.”
“I paid for the tour to get a visa. Now that I’m here, I need to talk to the right people. You can arrange that for me, can’t you?”
Ainh shifted nervously. “This is a…a complication. I do not know if I can…that is, it is not what I…” He drifted into helpless silence.
“Some months ago, I wrote
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