Saigon

“I cannot leave you here, Nguyen.” I murmured. “I came back for you. They’ll learn you worked with the Americans. You’ll be executed.”

“No, no, you do not understand,” Nguyen muttered insistently. “That’s not how it is. I have an honored position here.”

“Only until they find out. You must come out with me. I have friends . . . and a boat. And there’s a ship—”

“I don’t want to hear this,” Nguyen said, louder, with anger in his voice. “You don’t want to tell me this. You don’t understand.”

I lifted my head from his and, still holding him close, looked down in his face. I had been so stupid.

“You are one of them, aren’t you?” I said in a wounded voice. “You are Viet Cong. You were playing me.”

“Yes, I am VC. And I was sent to give you misinformation. To have sex with you and make you trust me and listen to me and make as many of the troops guarding Saigon to stay in Cam Ranh Bay as possible. But that’s not all.”