"Good afternoon, Mr. Siang."

Siang looked up to see the man standing in the shadows. It never failed to impress him, the size of that man. Even now, twenty years after their first meeting, Siang could not help feeling he was a child in the presence of this giant.

The man ordered a beer and sat down at the table. He watched the stage for a moment. "A new act?" he asked.

"The one in the middle is new."

"Ah, yes, very nice. Your type, is she?"

"I will have to find out." Siang took a sip of whiskey, his gaze never leaving the stage. "You said you had a job for me."

"A small matter."

"I hope that does not mean a small reward.''

The man laughed softly. "No, no. Have I ever been less than generous?"

"What is the name?"

"A woman." The man slid a photograph onto the table. "Her name is Willy Maitland. Thirty-two years old. Five foot two, dark blond hair cut short, gray eyes. Staying at the Oriental Hotel."

"American?"

"Yes."

Siang paused. "An unusual request."

"There is some… urgency."

Ah. The price goes up, thought Siang. "Why?" he asked.

"She departs for Saigon tomorrow morning. That leaves you only tonight."

Siang nodded and looked back at the stage. He was pleased to see that the girl in the middle, number seven, was looking straight at him. "That should be time enough," he said.

Willy Maitland was standing at the river's edge, staring down at the swirling water.

From across the dining terrace, Guy spotted her, a tiny figure leaning at the railing, her short hair fluffing in the wind. From the hunch of her shoulders, the determined focus of her gaze, he got the impression she wanted to be left alone. Stopping at the bar, he picked up a beer-Oranjeboom, a good Dutch brand he hadn't tasted in years. He stood there a moment, watching her, savoring the touch of the frosty bottle against his cheek.