"Sure... except they hardly ever take a pa.s.sport." She thought a moment, then said, "You'll hear from them again."

"I hope so. They have my pa.s.sport."

She lit another cigarette, and I had the impression she wasn't in a hurry to leave. I said, "Offer me the newspaper, and then you can take off for your next appointment. I need your business card and Bill's."

She looked at me, and we held eye contact awhile, then she put out her cigarette and said, "My business card is in the newspaper. I'm not sure you're supposed to know anything about Bill. Call me, and I'll let you know about that."

"Okay."

She stood and picked up her attache case from the chair. She said, "Thank you for the drinks."

I stood. "My pleasure."

She said, "I have an English language newspaper I'm finished with. Do you want it?"

"Sure. I can use something to read."

She took her International Herald Tribune International Herald Tribune from her attache case and put it on the table. "It's a day old, but it's the weekend edition. You won't see another one until Monday night." from her attache case and put it on the table. "It's a day old, but it's the weekend edition. You won't see another one until Monday night."

"Thanks."

She put out her hand and we shook. She said, "Good luck."

I replied, "Chuc Mung Nam Moi."

She smiled and said, "Chuc Mung Nam Moi." She turned and left.

I sat down and left the newspaper where it was, waiting for something unpleasant to happen as I sipped my beer.

I waited a full minute, nothing happened, and I picked up the newspaper and unfolded it. I palmed her business card and slipped it in my jacket pocket as I extracted my handkerchief and wiped my forehead. I sat sideways to the table and read the front page by the light of the table candle.

Well, so far, so good. I've never worked a case in a hostile country, though to be truthful I've worked cases in friendly countries that I've made hostile. In any case, I thought my spy craft was pretty good, considering I was just a cop. Mr. Conway was right-it's in the blood of my generation. Too many spy novels and movies. What would James Bond do now?

Well, James wouldn't have let Ms. Weber get away, for starters. But when you're working for the CID or the FBI, as I'd done a few times, you keep your cork in your shorts. And then, of course, there was Cynthia. And Bill, whoever he was. Plus, Ms. Weber didn't need any more trouble than she might already be in.

I looked up and noticed that Susan Weber had returned to the table. She sat down. She said, "Mr. Ellis has canceled our appointment. Also, I was supposed to tell you not to hesitate to call me if you need anything and to let me know when you're about to leave Saigon on Monday morning. But the phones in most foreign business offices are presumed to be tapped-not necessarily for security reasons, but in hopes they can hear something that will give them a business advantage. Still, you have to be careful what you say on the landline phones. My cell number is on my card, but you'll need a cell phone to call me, if you don't want the conversation monitored. If you call me from a landline, and you need to say something important, I can meet you. I've been asked to stay in Saigon all weekend. Okay?"

"You forgot all that?"

"Well, I said you could call me, if you need anything. I'm just elaborating."

"Okay. Thanks."

"It's Sat.u.r.day night and I don't have a date."

"Where's Bill?"

"I told him I might be busy, depending on what happened tonight."

"Am I missing something?"

"I wanted to see if you were interesting or not."

"Well, then, I guess this is good-bye."

She smiled. "Come on. Don't give me a hard time."

"Look... Susan... my instructions were-"

"I have new instructions. They want me to brief you about the country so you don't get totally lost and confused after you leave Saigon."

"Is that true?"

"Would I lie to someone from my home state?"

"Well..."

"I'm not used to no."

"I don't imagine you are. Will you join me for dinner?"

"I'd be delighted. How nice of you to ask."

I signaled a waiter and asked for menus. I said to my new friend, "How's the food here?"

"Actually, not bad. They have j.a.panese, French, Chinese, and, of course, Vietnamese. This is the Tet holidays, so there'll be a lot of specialty holiday foods offered."

The menus came, and I asked her, "What's the word for dog meat?"

"Thit cho." She smiled and picked up her menu. "What do you want? Chinese, Vietnamese, or French?"

"I want a cheeseburger and fries."

"I'll order for us from the holiday menu."

The maitre d' appeared, and they had a conversation about the menu, punctuated by some laughs and glances toward me. I said, "No thit cho."

The maitre d' laughed again and said something to Susan. To show I understood the language, I told him in Vietnamese to put his hands up.

The guy left and Susan said, "I ordered a lot of little things so you could taste everything and eat what you like." She asked me, "Why did you tell him to put his hands up?"

"Just practicing."

She asked, "Don't they have lots of Vietnamese restaurants in Washington?"

"Why do you think I live in Washington?"

"I a.s.sume you work for for Washington." Washington."

"I live in Virginia. I'm retired."

"Did you have Vietnamese food when you were here in the army?"

"I had C rations. You weren't allowed to eat the local stuff. Army regulations. Some guys got very sick on the food."

"Well, you still have to be careful. Drink lots of gin and tonics, bottled water, beer, and Coca-Cola. I was really sick when I first got here. We call it Ho Chi Minh's revenge. But I haven't been sick since then. You build up immunities."

"I won't be here that long."

The food came, course after course. Ms. Weber ate like a Vietnamese with the bowl up to her face, shoveling in everything with chopsticks. I used my knife and fork.

We made small talk, mostly about Saigon and her job. She explained what she did, but I being a government employee with no business background, none of it made sense to me. It had to do with giving advice and arranging loans for mostly American investors who wanted to do business in Vietnam. Even though it made no sense to me, it made sense to her, and I concluded that she really was an investment advisor. I can usually tell when someone's faking it because many of my a.s.signments require me to take on an undercover role and pretend I'm a clerk, or an armory sergeant, or anything that will get me close to the suspect.

After a while, I think we felt comfortable with each other. She said to me, "I know I'm not supposed to ask you questions, so I don't know what to ask you to make conversation."

"Ask me anything you'd like."

"Okay. Where did you go to school?"

"I can't answer that."

She smiled. "You think you're funny."

"I am am funny. Where did funny. Where did you you go to school?" go to school?"

"Amherst. Then Harvard for my MBA."

"And then?"

"I worked in New York with an investment bank."

"For how long?"

"If you're trying to figure out my age, I'm thirty-one."

"And you've been here three years."

"Three years next month."

"Why?"

"Why not? It's a good resume builder, and no one bothers you here."

"You like it here?"

"Actually, I do."

"Why?"

She shrugged, thought a moment, then said, "I guess... being an expat is who I am. You understand?"

"No."

"Well... it's part of my ident.i.ty. In New York, I was n.o.body. Just another pretty face with an Ivy League MBA. Here, I stand out. I'm exotic to the Vietnamese and interesting to Westerners."

I nodded. "I think I understand. When are you going home?"

"I don't know. I don't think about it."

"Why not? Don't you get homesick? Family? Friends? Fourth of July? Christmas? Groundhog Day?"

She played with her chopsticks awhile, then said, "My parents and my sister and brother come and visit at least once a year. We get along very well now because I'm here and they're there. They're all very successful and compet.i.tive. Here I can be my own person. A few good friends have visited, too. Also, the American community here goes out of its way to celebrate holidays, and somehow the holidays are more special and more meaningful. You understand?"

"I think so."

"Also, this isn't just a Third World country. It's a semi-totalitarian state, and the Westerners here feel like they're living on the edge, so every day is interesting, especially when you beat these idiots at their own game." She looked at me. "Am I making any sense, or have I had too much to drink?"

"Both. But I understand."

"You should. You're a spy."

I informed her, "I'm a retired army person, I served two tours here in '68 and '72, and I'm back here as a tourist."

"Whatever. Does this place b.u.m you out?"

"No."

"Did you have a bad time when you were here?"

"I've had better times."

"Were you wounded?" she asked.

"No."

"Did you ever have any post-traumatic stress?"

"I have enough everyday stress to keep me happy."

"Where were you when you were here?"

"Mostly up north."

"You mean Hanoi?" she asked.

"No. Hanoi was in North Vietnam. We never fought there."

"You said north."