“My nerves are fine. But my brain is very curious, Manh.”

“We are taking you someplace,” said Manh carefully. “And if you succeed in what we are asking you to do, we will return you to this place. And then you will be reunited with your precious cyclo.”

“What about my family?”

“They will be told that you have been detained for interrogation in a remote location.” Manh shrugged. “A routine political matter.”

Dzung thought about all this as the van made its way north and west along the crowded streets. He had fired off thousands of rounds of ammunition in the past several weeks, always using the same pistol. His training under Manh’s direction had been exact. After the first week on the firing range, they had moved to a cluttered, darkened warehouse building. Day after day, Dzung had been required to run quickly toward a wide array of different targets in the dark, through debris and knee-high obstacles, and then empty a full magazine into each target from very close range. The magazine was emptied the same way each time—two bullets to the heart, three to the head, two more to the heart. The targets and the obstacles had varied, but his approach and escape had always been the same. After firing a full magazine he would immediately conceal his weapon inside his clothing, race for a short distance away from the target, and then begin walking slowly, as if he were just appearing at the scene.

He knew what this was all about. It was no mystery what Manh was preparing him to do.

“And what are my chances of being reunited with my precious cyclo after I perform this service?” he asked dryly, staring at Manh’s relaxed frame from behind him.

“I thought you hated your life, mister cyclo driver.”

“Oh, no,” smiled Dzung, fighting back the nervousness that was now causing even his fingers to tingle. “It is a wonderful existence. Fresh air. Plenty of exercise. Interesting people. And when I take a vacation, I can park my cyclo free of charge in front of the Interior Ministry building.”

As Dzung spoke he noticed the van’s driver looking quickly at him through the rearview mirror, a silent, threatening reproach that prodded Manh himself into action. “Careful with your disrespect, Dzung.”

“But that was not disrespect,” grinned Dzung. “I was expressing my gratitude for all the benefits the revolution has brought me.”

“I am warning you—”

“Yes, I know,” answered Dzung. “My files.”

Manh shook his head, as if Dzung himself was hopeless. “I actually like you, Dzung. But you are too careless with your own safety.”