We do not know him. Instinctively, Dzung knew that an offer had just been placed before him, one that was negotiable if he chose to accept it, and even promising if he was careful. Despite himself, he felt an odd thrill. It was his first moment of power in more than two decades. And just as quickly he felt a tightening in his throat and a roll of nausea deep inside his stomach. For if he chose to negotiate he could not stop. And if he began and then negotiated badly, either he or Condley would certainly lose.

“I know him only as a man,” said Dzung. Compromising, he decided to tell Manh secrets that the government certainly already knew. “He spent many years in Viet Nam during the war. He was in love with a Vietnamese woman who died. He believes she was killed by people from your side.”

Manh’s dark eyes flashed. He suddenly smiled, as if welcoming Dzung into his home. And Dzung knew that the negotiation had begun. “We know that. Has he remained bitter?”

“He loves Viet Nam,” shrugged Dzung. “He is like us, I think. He knows that to love our country is to experience tragedy.”

“We do not believe he is so pure. Does he also love Colonel Pham’s daughter, then?”

“I know nothing of that. He respects Colonel Pham.”

“Why is he obsessed with the story of the Americans who were once missing in the mountains of Quang Nam Province?”

“I told you, Manh, he never mentions where he goes or what he does when he is not in Ho Chi Minh City. I know nothing of that.”

Manh grunted, unconvinced. “He is your friend for many years and you know nothing of what he does? Don’t you find that strange? Most Americans are like little children. They want you to know everything. They constantly need approval.”

“He is very Vietnamese, Manh. Like an older brother. Sometimes he acts foolishly but he believes he is taking care of me.”