“He is Superman?”

“Perhaps.”

“Seven girls? Ho, boy!”

She relayed the instructions to the girls, who giggled and squealed at the prospect. I sat down, and one of the girls took Dhang in hand and led him away. The madam sat down beside me.

“And you, Joe? What you want?”

I thought it over. “Do you have any betel nut?” I said finally. She frowned and said that she did not. “In that case,” I said, “what I’d really like is a nice cold glass of milk.”

He managed it. All seven of them, one right after the other, and when the last one went up to him, I began regretting that I hadn’t saved a few dollars to bury him. But before long the girl came down, shaking her head in astonishment, and a few moments later down came Dhang. He was positively gorgeous in a Laotian Communist Army uniform. He swaggered like a drunken sailor and beamed like a lighthouse.

“I will never go back to Thailand,” he said. “I will stay here in Saigon forever.”

“What will you do here?”

“Phuck,” he said succinctly.

“You’ll need money,” I said. “A lot of money, at this rate. What can you do?”

“Join the Army,” he said. “Fight the V.C. Get good pay. Eat good food. And phuck.”

He sounded like a recruiting poster. He was sold on the idea, so I took him in tow and scouted around until I found a colonel who couldn’t think of anyone else to shunt me off on. “He’ll be the best motivated soldier in the entire Army,” I told him. “You couldn’t ask for a more dedicated anti-Communist. He may be the only man who really knows what he’s fighting for. He might win the war all by himself. Surely you can find a place for him.”

“I don’t know,” the colonel said. “You say he’s Siamese?”

“That’s right. Didn’t Siam send troops?”

“A token unit. A hundred men, I think it was. Sure, that would be the place for him.” He shrugged. “Hell of a note. Just five, six days ago a few of our planes got their signals crossed. You know how it is, this jungle and all. They hit the Thai volunteers with napalm and antipersonnel bombs, wiped the poor buggers out to the last man.”

“Oh.”

“One of those things, can’t be helped, happens in every war.” It seemed to happen, I thought, with appalling frequency in this particular war. “Goddamned shame you didn’t show up a week or ten days earlier,” he went on. “Could have put him in with those fellows easy as pie.”

“I’m glad we didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Show up on time for him to join them.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Because he’d be dead now,” I said.

“Oh,” the colonel said. “Uh, yes, of course. Mmm. Hadn’t thought of it that way, but you’re right, aren’t you? He’d be deader than hell by now, wouldn’t he?”

I closed my eyes for a moment. Then I talked to him some more, and he wound up finding a way to have Dhang certified as an alien without his ever having set foot on U.S. soil. They got around the requirement by having him stand on a flag in the American consulate. Then they let him enlist in the United States Army. Some genius wanted to send him stateside to Fort Dix for basic training, but we got it through to them that he was a combat veteran ready for assignment to the front lines. He wangled his first month’s pay in advance and received instructions to report to his unit in three days. Then he and I said good-bye and shook hands solemnly, and away he went. I had a fair idea where he was going; I was only worried that his pay wouldn’t last the three days.

That was about it. Tuppence and I caught a military flight to Tokyo and flew to San Francisco on Japan Air Lines, then hopped a Pan Am flight to New York. I ate about eight meals a day and decided that everyone looked hopelessly Caucasian, even in Japan. In New York Tuppence went straight to her agent’s office to request a very safe and simple and square booking, and I took a cab to Kitty’s place in Brooklyn and picked up Minna. She was crazy about the jade cat I had brought her, and Kitty went absolutely out of her mind when I gave her the emerald.

“It can’t be real,” she said. “When they’re that size, they’re never real.”

“It’s real,” I told her. “But don’t wear it in Bangkok. It’s hot.”

A few days later I peddled the three other emeralds I had taken. A jeweler on 47th Street gave me more than I had expected for them. I didn’t think the king of Siam would miss a few stones; if he did, he could blame the Pathet Lao or the CIA, whichever he chose. And it was only sensible that I cover expenses. I had lost a load of cash at the guerrilla camp in Thailand and a flashlight battery full of gold in Tao Dan, not to mention all the pounds of me that had gone down the drain in the course of things. A couple of emeralds and a jade kitten seemed reasonable compensation.

Tuppence, for her part, had appropriated a ruby the size of a robin’s egg, which she wore back to the States in her navel.

What else? The Chief saw me, summoning me to the meeting by having some kid pass a note to Minna. I didn’t much care for that. It was bad enough that he bothered me all the time; I didn’t want him involving the child. She handed the note on to me and told me, in Armenian, that all Turks are the swine-loving spawn of the devil. I told her not to believe everything that Kitty’s grandmother told her, and then I went to meet the pudgy man from Washington.

“You continue to amaze me,” he said. “Everybody goes on a mission equipped with a cover story, Tanner. It’s standard procedure. But only you could come out of a mission with still another cover story. You must have handled the opium job in nothing flat.”

“Oh,” I said. I had wholly forgotten that nonsense about the opium.

“We’re starting to get word already. Whoever your connections are, they don’t fool around, do they? Preliminary operations for the cultivation of opium are already underway in extensive stretches of Modonoland. I hadn’t even heard of the damned country until this came up. It was part of either Nigeria or Tanzania until a couple of months ago, when it seceded. The growers have the full cooperation of the Modonoland government, and there’s no reason why this shouldn’t pull the rug out from under the Red Chinese opium trade.” He winked. “Of course, we’d hate to be officially involved. Can’t subsidize the opium trade with one hand and lock up a lot of poor little junkies with the other. That’s why it’s so perfect that you kept the whole thing under wraps with the cover story of the Siamese jewels.” He beamed. “Everybody’s happy about this one, Tanner. Right straight up to the top. I mean everybody.”

But everybody wasn’t happy. I wasn’t happy, for one. I went back to my apartment, and I looked at the heroin addicts in the streets, and I walked upstairs and sat down and wasn’t happy at all. I tried telling myself it was a coincidence, and that lasted about three days. Then a letter arrived with a Macao postmark, and inside it was a check for one hundred thousand Swiss francs drawn on the Bank Leu in Zurich. A note from Abel said, “One good turn merits another. Autonomy for the Jura!”

So I had done the world a bad turn, and I had in return a piece of paper worth roughly twenty-three thousand American dollars. It bothered me for a long time. I didn’t know what in hell to do with it. Finally I wound up donating half of it to Synanon – they’ve had exceptionally good results treating heroin addicts. And with the remainder I founded an organization aimed at overthrowing the government of Modonoland and burning the opium fields to the ground.