Mr. Roper and the helicopter arrived in Thakhek early the next morning. The Englishman had planned to return the three Bru to their village on the border and take back the two girls in the afternoon. But he had hit an impasse called overtime. There was a problem with the pilot’s time sheet and he refused to go anywhere until he had it in writing that he’d be paid extra for taking on two trips in one day. The locals had quickly picked up on how to ride the UN’s budget and Roper was not the most skilled at dealing with money matters. So he set off with the three Bru and, once again, left the silent girls in Daeng’s care. They followed her like nervous ducklings.

Siri called upon his knowledge of history. He knew that the crucial year for the Japanese campaign in Indochina was ’45. The six months from March to August had seen Thakhek at its busiest with the launch of Meigo Sakusen or Bright Moon, the Japanese coup-de-force. This was when the occupation became an invasion. French officials had been imprisoned or shot. Some were beheaded. Garrisons were overrun. Businessmen and their families were robbed and confined to their homes and the Japanese took over the administration of the region. After humiliating defeats in the Philippines and Okinawa, large numbers of Japanese troops retreated to Laos and Vietnam in what they referred to as a tactical withdrawal and Thakhek assumed the role of regional hub as had been planned.

Siri and Daeng went to look at the area that had served as the Japanese troop campsite on the edge of town. After thirty-six years there wasn’t a lot to see. It looked like an underdeveloped suburb. There were buildings here and there the locals said had been erected by the Japanese but these were either covered in vegetation or refurbished to store hay or house cattle. Most had not survived the ravages of time.

The two little girls had accompanied Daeng and Siri on this walk around the settlement. One had allowed Daeng to hold her hand. The other flatly refused to let Siri touch her but she did remain a tail-length behind him the entire trip. Just before the old couple were about to give up and have lunch, they came across Beer.

Beer was a friendly fellow who approached them and asked what their purpose was in Thakhek. He was dressed in well-worn clothing, unimpressive but for an incongruous bright red scarf around his neck. He was perhaps sixty, unremarkable in build and height, but he did have a spectacular scar. It started at his hairline, gouged down between his eyes, narrowly missed his nose, and sliced through his mouth, leaving him with four lips and a truly cleft chin. Behind the gruesome scar there was something that sparked a memory in Siri’s mind—one too deep to dredge to the surface.