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his
bait.
    Nash took his
radio's handset and directed two of his Corporals to the rear of Amai's
building. 'Observe only,' he said. 'Goddamn don't let her see you.'
    Prone to
impulsiveness, his Corporals needed to be kept on a tight leash.
    * * *
    So as to standout, Amai had worn her blue
dress.
    Specks of melted
tar from the roof had stuck to the soles of her sandals. She vaulted the last
parapet and dropped into the alley.
    They must've
seen me.
    She made her way
to the main street and waved down a powered-cyclo; a three-wheeled machine with
red wheels and blue mudguards and a bench-seat in front of the rider.
    Amai got into
the seat. 'Cholon, please. Follow the canal.'
    'Kenh Tau Hu?'
    'Yes.'
    There was a
pre-determined procedure for an emergency meeting with Triet. It involved
taking a red scarf to a Cholon address, putting it under the doormat, and then
waiting at a strip-club called, The Flashing Tiger.
    Amai was nervous.
    The cyclo bumped
over the rough pavement, the driver working hard to avoid collisions with the
motorbikes, cycles, and pedestrians that swarmed the road. The familiar smells
of fish oil and broth mixed with the humid air, the sickly aroma clinging to
her clothing, hair, and skin.
    Every now and
then Amai glanced back past the driver. There was no sign of a tail.
    Surely they
saw me?
    The noisy cyclo
added to the hanging pollution. In Cholon, the streets narrowed and she could
smell the canal, behind the buildings on her left. She still hadn't spotted the
tail.
    Where are
they?
    Without warning,
a motorbike towing a makeshift trailer came out of a side-street and into the
cyclo's path. The trailer, wrapped in a wire cage, was crammed full of piglets.
The motorbike was out of control, its overloaded trailer tilted one way, then
the other, and then rolled onto its side. The trailer hit the pavement and the
cage broke open. Piglets ran squealing in all directions.
    Amai's driver
swerved to the right to avoid the crashed trailer. She was sure the cyclo would
roll. The right front wheel lifted off the ground and the contraption spun
sideways. They skidded to a stop facing the curb. The motor chugged for several
seconds and then died. A piglet knocked a woman off her bicycle; others caused
the traffic to stop. One just stood in the roadway, paralyzed by
indecision. 
    Amai thought herself
lucky to have avoided injury.
    Then she saw the
tail and her body stiffened. Reflected in a shop window, two brand-new BSA
motor-scooters pulled over and stopped. They were ridden by Americans with
military style haircuts.
    The cyclo would
not restart. Amai helped the driver push it to the roadside. Acting casually,
as one who did not expect to be followed, she started walking up the street.
The Intelligence officers followed. Then it happened.
    Automatic
weapons' fire opened-up behind her. Amai's head snapped around. Someone was
shooting at the Americans. The men on the new BSA scooters fell onto their
sides.
    Then she saw the
jeep.
    American
soldiers jumped from the jeep and started shooting. A hailstorm of bullets
clattered off the masonry and ricocheted across the street. Amai began to run.
 
    The Americans
gave chase.
    She reached the
canal edge. In the water below, a line of small barges were moored against the
wall. Amai jumped from the bank and thudded onto a barge's deck. It rocked
violently and the owner fell into the brown water. Amai ran through its leafy
cargo and then leapt the short gap to the next boat. Ahead of her the flotilla provided
an unstable pontoon that led deeper into the steep-sided canal. The further she
went, the higher the wall rose above her, but beyond putting distance between
her and the Americans, she had no plan.
    She glanced
back. Two Americans had reached the bank; they held M-16s. Behind them, a beefy
soldier was yelling for them to stop.      
    She thought: I'm
done for.
    Then the crackle
of gunfire echoed across the water.
    * * *
    Nash was gutted by his own stupidity, but
he had