“Despite my horrible injuries, when they found me I put up a fight,” he said. “I took them on, hand-to-hand, fought to what I thought would be my death. Once they had me in the cage I constantly tried to escape. Bravery was what jungle fighters expected and respected. They saw me as a real man. They wanted to be like me. I could tell they had no respect for that bastard Yiw. He was cruel to everyone. So when he was away, they treated my wounds using natural remedies that had been passed down through generations. They gave me medicine and balm to prevent illnesses and keep the mosquitoes at bay. I learned their language very quickly. I have a knack. They were in awe. Soon, I was like their brother. They loved me. But they were scared shitless by what the commander might do if he found out we were allies. So I put up with it, played along so my captors wouldn’t get into trouble. It’s all in the book.”

“Right,” I said. “The book. You don’t seem very upset to have lost your manuscript.”

He winked. I had a problem with winking too. I took it to mean he had a plan B. I wondered if he’d left a copy with his close friends at the border. Great foresight, that, to make two copies of a manuscript written in pencil in extreme conditions. I assumed the village didn’t have a Xerox. Either way, he seemed very confident.

I conducted my standard physical tests while he described some of the torture he’d endured. He had a number of recent bruises that he put down to “misunderstandings” with the guards at the Hilton although nobody recalled having cause to beat him up. His broken arm had healed beautifully, and he had a messy scar on his head that would have benefited from sutures that were obviously not available. A torn ligament that he said was caused by being dragged behind a buffalo cart by the ankle had left him with a limp. I had no X-ray to check that. Suddenly, and unexpectedly, he switched to English.

Hung Lan jumped to his feet. “You’re going to pay for this,” he said.

“For what?” I asked through the interpreter.

“The traumas your people have caused me,” he said.

“We’re letting you go,” I reminded him.

“So?”

“So, I suggest that until you’re on the plane, you feign a little gratitude and save your complaints. It’s not too late to give your ticket to someone else.”