Condley, Muir, and Quyen joined the village elders at the little table. An unsmiling young woman appeared from nowhere, dressed in black slacks and a peasant shirt, her long hair pulled back behind her ears. She did not even look at them as she silently poured tea from the porcelain pot into the cups. Le Xuan Minh ceremoniously took a cigarette and lit it with a wooden match, then offered the pack to Condley.

“Da, cam on ong,” said Condley, thanking him and taking a cigarette, then passing the pack to Muir. The heavyset scientist tottered uneasily atop his little stool, taking out a cigarette as delicately as if it were a stick of dynamite, and passed the pack on to the ever-smiling Quyen.

“The weather is terrible,” began the village chief in Vietnamese, sipping his tea and dragging again from his cigarette. “But if you waited it would only get worse. So we thank you for coming to our village today.”

Condley answered him with ritualistic politeness, speaking also in Vietnamese. “We are happy to be able to join you in your village, sir, and we deeply appreciate the goodwill you have shown to the American people by making this report to your government.”

“He is not from our village,” answered Le Xuan Minh as the village elders nodded. “It would be wrong for him to be kept forever with us.”

“We very much appreciate your having kept him for so many years with your own people,” answered Condley. “And it is right that he be returned.”

“Surely he has a family in America,” said Le Xuan Minh. “They will have missed him.”

Quyen had grown increasingly nervous from the two men’s immediate rapport. The political officer puffed mightily on his cigarette, then leaned across the table, interjecting himself between them. “The Vietnamese government has always worked very hard for complete cooperation on these issues,” he said, making sure that both parties remembered where the ultimate power lay. “So you see, Mr. Condley, sometimes we have success.”

Condley took an extralong drag on his own cigarette, the harsh local tobacco hurting his lungs. He frowned, playing with his teacup for a moment. Finally he cleared his throat, hesitating to make the obvious point. “So that I may make a full explanation to my authorities, I must ask you why it took so long to report this man, since he was buried in your village cemetery.”

They were prepared for the question. In fact, Condley knew that was why Quyen had insisted on leaving for Ninh Phuoc by himself the day before. The village chief nodded to his elders before speaking, indicating that his comments were not merely his own.