Conspiracy

110

True to her word, Qui had remained at the small club where Dean had left her. She sat alone at a table toward the back, smoking a cigarette. The dim light softened the effects of age on her face; she looked twenty years younger. If rock and roll rather than Asian pop were blaring in the background, Dean might even have been convinced it was 1972 again.

“You’re back,” said Qui as he sat down.

“The business is all taken care of.” A waitress came over. Qui pointed at her empty glass.

“For my friend, a Scotch,” she added in Vietnamese.

“I don’t want a drink,” said Dean.

Qui patted his hand, and he acquiesced, though whether out of politeness or some sense that she needed to share something with him, he couldn’t say.

“What did you do?” she asked in English when the server had gone.

“I threatened to reveal that Cam Tre Luc was on the CIA payroll during the war.”

“Was he?”

“He was.”

“I guess it’s not surprising,” she said. “People pretend to be pure, but they’re not.”

“You know Cam Tre Luc?”

“No. But his kind is very familiar. The leaders of the country. They claim purity.” She smiled wistfully. “But so do we all, don’t we?”

The waitress came with their drinks. Qui took a sip of hers; Dean did not.

“We cannot go against our nature,” said Qui. “You couldn’t.

I should have realized when he told me that you called that you would come to rescue me.”

“You’re not implying that I’m pure, are you?” asked Dean.

“Not pure, Mr. Dean. Just that it is in your nature to try to fix things. You think it is a good trait, but it can cause much harm as well. Good and evil, at the same time. Thank you for trying to fix things with Cam Tre Luc.” Dean took the faxed pages from his pocket and slid them across the table to her. “If he bothers you, show him a copy of this.”

Qui left the papers untouched on the table. Neither she nor Dean said anything for a full minute. Finally Dean rose to go.

“Thank you, Charlie Dean. I see what my future might have been. Now, I no longer have to mourn for it.”