He had sufficient confidence now to send what he knew to Cindy at the US embassy. Her Lao was good enough that he’d have no need to put together a translation. He sent Beer back across the river that afternoon with the message. The Thais had state-of-the-art communications systems and ran daily pouches between embassies in the region. Siri considered accompanying Beer, perhaps dropping in to see if Kyoko had learned anything new from the diary and the files. But an item in a Thai radio broadcast that morning had described a Thai wife who had sliced off her husband’s penis because she smelled another woman on his collar. She’d attached the organ to a helium balloon and set it free, knowing it would never be found in time to reattach it. Siri’s eyes had watered at the thought of it. It was too soon for another visit to Kyoko.

Daeng returned to her room at about 5 p.m. She woke her husband.

“It’s happy hour,” she said.

“I never understood why happiness should be restricted to just an hour,” said Siri, pulling himself from sleep.

She gave him a kiss. He gave it back.

“It’s because normal people in normal jobs work hard all day and then worry all night,” she said. “They can only squeeze an hour of happiness between the two.”

“Thank heavens we aren’t normal,” said Siri, getting creakily into a sitting position. “What news of the linguist?”

“Astounding,” said Daeng. “He’s young.”

“Attractive?”

She knocked him onto his back with a pillow and held it to his face.

“Roper speaks a mere seven languages,” said Daeng. “Young Malcolm is fluent . . .”

“Does he have firm biceps?” Siri asked, but his words were muffled in kapok.

“. . . fluent in twenty regional languages and dialects.”

She removed the pillow before it was too late.

“Twenty,” she said. “Can you believe it? He didn’t even need the cassette. He started speaking to one of the girls in her own language just from the way she looked. The shape of her face. She answered straightaway. Seemed so pleased. It turns out her name is Mim and she’s Khua. Not a lot of Khua in the world. Some two thousand in Laos, he estimates.”

“And the other one?” he asked.

“Her name’s Uwa and she’s Jeh. Far more common. Roper could speak it but she’d been warned not to trust anyone who knew her language. There were probably a lot of Jeh speakers at the camp. But the minder had told her if she spoke to anyone she’d be shot.”

“Do you know where they’re from?”

“They’re so very rural, Siri. Isolated villages. The only world they knew was bordered by mountains. If their homes had names they’d never been told. And Siri . . . ?”

“I’m listening.”

“They weren’t kidnapped.”

“I was afraid of that.”