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Chapters (48)
  1. COVER PAGE
  2. TITLE PAGE
  3. EPIGRAPH
  4. PRAISE
  5. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  6. MAP
  7. PROLOGUE
  8. CHAPTER ONE
  9. CHAPTER TWO
  10. CHAPTER THREE
  11. CHAPTER FOUR
  12. CHAPTER FIVE
  13. CHAPTER SIX
  14. CHAPTER SEVEN
  15. CHAPTER EIGHT
  16. CHAPTER NINE
  17. CHAPTER TEN
  18. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  19. CHAPTER TWELVE
  20. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  21. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  22. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  23. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  24. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  25. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  26. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  35. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  36. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  45. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  46. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  47. COPYRIGHT PAGE
  48. What’s next onyour reading list?

“Of course.” Hasler’s mind seemed to wander. “He didn’t have to go to Viet Nam,” said the old man, glancing for a moment at the wall that contained his own war mementos. “The Australian Army had pulled out of there by the time he finished school, you know. But he had that passion in him. He had a reach that was too great for this little town in this desolate region. I was very proud, watching him take up photography the way he did. He was quite a talented young man. There wasn’t much else he could have done around here, particularly in his circumstances. The camera was his way out. Once he realized he could turn it into a ticket to Sydney, it was all over. And from Sydney it was on to Viet Nam. The boy was quite talented.”

Hasler rose from the couch with effort and made his way to a well-polished mahogany bureau. Opening a drawer, he took out a thick folder and brought it back to the table. His hands trembling, he worked carefully to place a dozen eight-by-ten photos on the table. There in black and white were a series of action shots that Mathew Larkin had captured during his time in Viet Nam, street scenes and battlefield moments that were so vivid they made Condley himself shudder with memories.

“He was good,” said Condley quietly.

“No, he was brilliant,” said the old man. “If he had survived he could have been world-famous. I’m sure that’s why he took that unfortunate, secret assignment. To get something no one else had ever captured on film. To become famous. To push the limits and prevail. It’s a shame, I tell you. A sad, abominable shame.”

The old man looked up from the pictures, an odd pain in his weathered, ancient face, and nodded to Condley. “You’re in charge. Are you going to send us his remains for a proper burial?”

“We don’t know quite what to do about that,” answered Condley. “We’ll be in touch with your government, I suppose. We were just told by Doctor McHenry that all his family members are dead.”

“Then I will tell you the truth,” said Doctor Hasler. He took a deep breath, looking at the photographs on his table and shaking his head with a primal and eternal sorrow. “I am the young lad’s father. And it would mean more to me than you will ever know if you would arrange to send him home. Can you please, please do that?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Sai Gon