Conspiracy

62

“Lo is complaining that you stiffed him,” Kelly Tang told Dean early the morning after the adventures at Saigon Rouge. They’d arranged to meet for breakfast at Saolo, a cafe near his hotel. “He wants five thousand U.S. from me.”

“I would have paid if I saw him,” Dean told her. “And I only owe him five hundred, not five thousand.”

“You should pay him. If you don’t, I’ll have to, just to shut him up.”

“I will,” said Dean. “Eventually.”

Tang folded her arms. “It’s not easy developing people, especially people like Lo. They’re a necessary evil.” Dean slipped his hand into his pocket and retrieved the envelope with Lo’s five hundred dollars. “So pay him.” Tang frowned. “It’s not counterfeit, I hope. He’ll know the difference.”

“It’s not counterfeit.”

Tang took the money and slipped it into the waistband of her pants.

“I need another favor,” said Dean.

“What?”

“I need to get to Quang Nam,” Dean told her. “I need a driver I can trust.”

“Quang Nam?”

“It’s a province near the DMZ.”

“I know where Quang Nam is,” said Tang curtly. “And there is no more DMZ. The war ended a long time ago.”

“Sorry.”

“A driver? Why don’t you fly to Da Nang?”

“I prefer to drive.”

The real reason was that the airports were always

watched and Dean didn’t want to be seen traveling around any more than necessary. Besides, he’d need a vehicle once he was in Quang Nam.

“You can come if you want,” added Dean. “I’m going to Tam Ky.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry, I have too much to do here. I’ll find you a driver, though. Trustworthy. To a point.” Dean started to interrupt, but she continued, explaining what she meant.

“We’re in Vietnam. No one is completely trustworthy.

Not even yourself. Don’t worry. She’s nothing like Lo.”

“She?”

“You have a problem with women?”

Dean shook his head.

“You won’t be able to use your same cover,” Tang told him. “You’ll have to say you’re an aid worker. It will arouse less suspicion. With her. She doesn’t like conglomerates.

It’ll be easier.”

“OK.”

“How soon do you want to leave?”

“As soon as possible. Today would be good.” Tang frowned. “I’ll do the best I can. No guarantees.” Dean took a sip of tea, then nibbled on the sugared pastry he’d ordered blind off the menu. It was made of very thin layers of what he thought was phyllo dough and enough sug-ary syrup to send a dentist’s entire family to college. Karr would have loved it; Dean found it far too sweet but was too hungry not to eat.

“I heard there was some excitement in District Four last night,” said Tang.

“Oh?”

“There were some explosions in a house of ill repute. The police were even called.”

“Don’t know anything about it.”

“I’ll bet.”

Tang smiled, then reached across the table and put her hand down on his.

“You’ll be careful?” she said.

“Sure.”

“I like you, Mr. Dean. You’re old-school.” Tang patted his hand, then got up. “Check your phone messages in about an hour.”

Dean thought about the soft tap of Tang’s hand as he walked back to his hotel.

“Are you coming for me, Charlie?”

Dean blinked his eyes open. He’d dozed off.

“Charlie?”

It was Longbow, calling him. He was in the sniper nest, waiting for Phuc Dinh.

A dream. It’s a dream.

“Charlie? Are you coming? Charlie?” The air began popping with gunfire.

Charlie?

“your driver is downstairs,” said Rockman, talking to Dean via the Deep Black com system. “Charlie — are you awake?” The phone rang. Dean jerked upright in the bed. He’d lain back to rest and drifted off.

He’d seen Longbow in his dream. And Phuc Dinh. They were both alive.

Nonsense.

“Answer the phone, Charlie,” said Rockman. “Are you there?”

“I’m here, Rockman.” Dean picked it up. “Yes?”

“Mr. Dean?”

“I’m Charles Dean.”

“You need someone to take you to Quang Nam?”

“Yes.”

“I’m in the lobby.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”