They stopped walking. Dzung lit the cigarette off Manh’s match, a few apologetic tourists bumping into them as they passed. And then they began walking again. The doors of a strip joint opened. Four drunken westerners stumbled into the street. The music from the club was very loud. Dzung stopped again, staring through the doorway at a half dozen young Thai women dancing naked on an elevated stage.

Every time you go away, the music blared as the naked women twisted on the stage. You take a piece of me with you . . .

“Let’s go in there,” said Dzung.

“I don’t have the money,” said Manh simply. “And neither do you.”

“The rice business is not as profitable as I thought,” grinned Dzung.

“AIDS is a very big problem in this city,” warned Manh. “You don’t want to die like that.”

Dzung watched Manh carefully. It was a chance to test the Interior Ministry agent’s intentions without confronting him directly. “If I knew I was going to live, I would worry about AIDS. But if I am going to die in Bangkok, I should at least be rewarded with a woman for one night.”

Manh put a hand on Dzung’s shoulder. Anyone watching them would have believed they were close, longtime friends. “We are great soldiers.”

“We?” asked Dzung, a hint of irony in his eyes.

“The Vietnamese. Great soldiers, Mister Trong. So you’re not going to die in Bangkok. As long as you do your duty.”

“I already promised you that, Manh.”

“You have a rich man’s haircut,” teased Manh, flipping his fingers for a moment at the front of Dzung’s newly styled coiffure. “Maybe if we stand at one of these bars for a while, an American woman would pick you up.”

“Do we have money for the bar?” asked Dzung.

“No.”

Dzung grinned, knowing he’d been had. “So I guess we keep on walking.” He gave Manh another shrewd, measuring look. “What are you going to do with me when we get back to Sai Gon?”

“When we get back,” nodded Manh. “I like that. That’s a very good attitude, Mister Trong.”

“Is there an answer?”

Manh shrugged casually. “It will all depend.”

“On how much rice I sell?”

“On how well you sell your rice.”

“Then I will sell it very well, Manh.”

They were reaching the end of Patpong. Manh checked his watch, turning around to stroll back through the district one more time. He put his hand on Dzung’s shoulder again.

“I know that,” he said.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“That will be Paul Archer,” said Condley with a casual certainty.

Hanson Muir settled back into the large wicker chair. “And how do you know, oh mighty sleuth?”

“He’s the only guy in Bangkok who would be wearing a pair of old leather-heeled Florsheim shoes.”