And nothing that had happened to him in the last quarter century amazed Dzung so completely as when the thick crowd parted upon seeing him approach, allowing him to walk untouched into the terminal. In the usual tradition of Sai Gon he had expected to be jostled, pickpocketed, suborned, and even insulted. But when he stepped out of the government van in his olive suit with his leather carrying bag and his swept-back hair and walked resolutely toward the terminal doors, the mass of people parted before him. His elegance stunned many of them into silence. There was envy in many of their eyes, curiosity in others, but in all of them he saw an eerie, undeniable respect.

When he reached the terminal door, Manh came up from behind him, opening it for him. The Interior Ministry agent was grinning with delight. “Allow me, Mister Trong.”

At the business-class section of the ticket counter, Manh brought their passports to the front of the line. Immediately a Viet Nam Airlines employee left the counter and personally escorted them through security, and then through Customs, where they were waved into the departure lounge without inspection. Dzung remained silent, following Manh, having little idea of where he was and no idea of where he was going.

In the departure lounge hundreds of people milled about, most of them foreigners at the end of their Viet Nam adventure. Dzung strolled among the backpackers and the sport-shirted tourists, marveling at their easy opulence, wondering how many of them he might have implored to ride for an hour on his cyclo for a dollar, only a dollar, a fraction of what they now were throwing away on beer and peanuts as they whiled away the minutes before the flight that would take them to their next few days of frolic.

Manh guided him to the business-class lounge, where a half dozen other passengers were already waiting. In the small room he sat for a half hour on a cushy sofa, watching television for the first time since the war’s end. A cute young woman in a blue ao dai spoiled him with deferential smiles, offering him napkins and food. He ordered a bottle of orange juice, then two bags of cashew nuts, and finally three slices of papaya.

Another escort from Viet Nam Airlines greeted them in the business-class lounge. Ever smiling, ever gracious, she guided them past the long lines and around the X-ray machines, taking them to a small bus that drove them onto the runway, directly to the waiting aircraft. They climbed the flight ladder and took their seats in the front row of the business-class section. They were the first people to board the aircraft. The flight attendants greeted them as royalty, knowing they were on a special travel assignment from the government.