“You are based in a socialist state and dallying with a married woman whose husband represents a socialist country,” said Daeng with a smile. “Spying is one of our fortes. How could we not know? It would appear the only ear the story has yet to reach is that of the consul.”

“Who I believe is an insanely jealous man,” Siri added.

“I . . .” said Roper.

“Now, for a waiter or a taxi driver that would not necessarily be a problem,” said Siri.

“He could just jump on the bus and make a living elsewhere,” said Daeng.

“But for a United Nations representative, particularly one with a wife and two children of his own, this situation could be a little sticky,” said Siri.

“This is . . .” Roper lowered his voice even though they were alone in the room. “This is blackmail.”

“Not yet,” said Daeng.

“That’s coming,” said Siri.

“And when it does you’ll be pleased to learn that we don’t want money,” said Daeng.

“That would be most uncivilized,” said Siri. “All we want . . .”

“Is a helicopter ride to Thakhek,” said Daeng.

“And back,” said Siri.

“I . . .” said Roper.

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

How Does She Smell?

6/21/1943

It was a fine evening and I was watching the sun set beyond the river. I’d had a busy but fruitful day of planting tomatoes. I was about to return to the camp and resume my Lao language studies when I smelled something awful. I turned to see Warrant Officer Ukabane Orimimi standing close behind me. It was hardly surprising that he had trouble making friends. Apart from the state of his face, which was like that of an unsuccessful boxer, he had the most horrible breath. Honestly, it was as if a rat had crawled into his mouth and died there. I’d recommended mouthwashes and pineapple juice and fennel seeds but nothing seemed to make a difference.

“Major Toshi,” he said. “I am so very lonely. Sometimes I think I’ll never find a woman to love me.”

“I believe there is someone for everyone,” I said, although I doubted he’d find his ideal woman in a war zone surrounded only by male soldiers. But he needed a boost to his morale and I decided it was worth being just a tad dishonest in order to achieve that aim. At the market there was one plain Lao woman who had no nose. A feral dog had bitten it off when she was a child. What remained of the nostrils had scarred over. Consequently, she had no sense of smell. This, I decided, would be a good start for anyone getting to know Ukabane. For the next stage I trusted my instinct and the power of translation.

“This is Warrant Officer Ukabane,” I said to the market woman. Her name was Moot.

Lao market women can be very direct and rude in a charming way so I anticipated her response.