Dzung took off his jacket, folding it carefully and stowing it with his bag in the overhead compartment, and then settled into his seat. A flight attendant brought him a glass of juice and that day’s edition of Tuoi Tre. It was almost impossible to comprehend that a mere seven hours before, he had been pedaling his cyclo in the dust and fumes of District One, on his way to work at the Rex Hotel.

As he was reading the newspaper, the rest of the flight began to board the aircraft. Soon he heard a familiar voice. Then he heard another familiar voice, and finally that of a woman talking to the other two. He sat, stunned, his heart pounding uncontrollably for the first time that day. Looking carefully from behind the newspaper, he fought back a moment of stark terror.

Condley, Van, and Hanson Muir stood only a few feet away from him, waiting for the passengers in front of them to take their seats. Condley and Van were standing very close together. Hanson Muir was just behind them, carrying a too-large hanging bag and grumbling good-naturedly.

“I am in a state of extreme depression, Brandon, and it is only fair that you also be in a state of extreme depression. Back in the States they have a show called Sesame Street. They teach us all about sharing. Sharing is a good thing. So if you can’t share your good fortune with me, at least I’m going to make a point of sharing my depression with you. Do you understand my concept? And will you two please stop it?”

“I told you, Professor. As soon as we get to Bangkok I’ll get you a bubble bath and a massage.”

“My wife wouldn’t like that.”

“How do you know? Has she ever had one?”

Van laughed lightly, a hand moving casually along Condley’s arm. Dzung weakened for a moment, allowing himself to scrutinize her face. It was the closest he had ever been to her. An emotion rolled through his belly, somewhere between jealousy and concern.

Condley picked up his look. With a sudden protectiveness he turned toward Dzung and stared menacingly back at him, squinting his eyes just for a moment, as if in recognition. Shaken, Dzung quickly returned to his newspaper. Condley looked at him curiously for another moment, as if considering a thought and then dismissing it. And then the three moved on toward their seats in the rear of the aircraft.

Dzung looked over at Manh. The Interior Ministry agent was smiling grandly, a look of complete victory on his face.

“So you see, Mister Trong. You are a different man.”

Dzung clung to the newspaper, shifting uneasily in his seat. “This business of exporting rice is becoming very complicated.”

“Perhaps. But it has its rewards.”

He glanced at the carry-on bag that Manh had kept on his lap. “Did you bring the gun?”

“Of course I brought the gun.”