“A businessman?” grinned Dzung, looking again at himself in the mirror. “I must make a lot of money.”

“You’re supposed to be nervous!” grimaced Manh, watching Dzung preen before the mirror.

“Me, or Nguyen Le Trong?”

“You, Dzung!” Manh watched him for another second and then relaxed into silent laughter himself. “You do have nerves of steel, don’t you? I see we picked the right man.”

“Tell me more about this business,” said Dzung, running his hands over the material of his suit.

The photographer walked back into the room, handing Manh a small, bulky envelope, and then left. Manh opened the package, nodding his head approvingly as he flipped through several pages. Then he held it up for Dzung to see.

“This is your passport. As you will be able to see, you have been to Thailand many, many times.”

“To Thailand?” breathed Dzung, staring at the small booklet. “What have I done there?”

“Business,” said Manh.

“What kind of business?”

“Rice,” answered Manh. “We are the third-largest exporter of rice in the world, you know.”

“We export rice while our children starve?”

“Cease talking like that,” said Manh. “You are not living in District Four. You are an exporter.” He handed Dzung the passport. “This is not a forged document, Trong. Please note that from now on I will call you Trong. But this is not a forged document. It is an official government passport. The only thing that is inaccurate is your identity.”

“What are we doing?” asked Dzung.

“We are going to Thailand,” said Manh. “There is a flight that leaves at three o’clock this afternoon.”

“To sell rice?” asked Dzung sarcastically.

“To sell rice,” said Manh.

“What time does my limo pick me up?”

Manh laughed, folding his arms and looking proudly at his creation. “You learn quickly, don’t you, Trong?”

Dzung preened for another moment at the mirror, turning this way and that, amazed at his own transformation. “Maybe I like this idea of selling rice.”

It was an idle comment, but as Manh watched the newly converted Dzung’s face he saw a power emanating from those simple words. And it made him very uncomfortable.

The walkway outside the Tan Son Nhat airport terminal was jammed with travelers, cab drivers, family members, hawkers, hookers, and thieves, all waiting anxiously to greet passengers on the flight that had just arrived from Bangkok. They stood three-deep along a roped corridor that allowed the new arrivals to exit from the terminal’s glass doorways, holding flowers or signs, their eyes filled with anticipation. They peered wistfully inside the terminal through the windows, as if all of the outside world were a jail and the terminal building itself were an enviable node of freedom. They pulsed with an undeniable energy, an excitement so palpable that it crackled among them like static electricity.