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doesn’t make too many jokes, so to be polite, I chuckled.
    This encouraged him, I think, to press on. He said, “Did I mention that the Department of the Army will retroactively promote you to Chief Warrant Officer Five and recompute your retirement pay?”
    “Tell them thanks.”
    “In exchange for about two or three weeks of your time.”
    “There’s always a catch.”
    Hellmann stopped and lit another cigarette. We faced each other under a lamplight. Hellmann exhaled a stream of smoke and said, “We can get someone else, but your name came up first, second, and third. I’ve never asked a favor of you—”
    “Of course you have.”
    “And I’ve gotten you out of some very messy situations, Paul.”
    “That you put me in, Karl.”
    “You put yourself in most of them. Be honest with yourself.”
    “It’s cold out here. I need a drink. You smoke too much.” I turned and walked off.
    End of meeting. End of Karl. I continued walking, picturing Karl standing under the lamplight, smoking his cigarette, watching me. Well, that was one bad thing resolved.
    For some reason, I found that my pace was slowing. All sorts of thoughts suddenly filled my frozen brain. Cynthia was one of them, of course. Write a second act, Paul. Was I set up, or what?
    Certainly I needed to do something to get my juices flowing again. But
I couldn’t believe that Cynthia would want me to risk my life to perk up our relationship. Probably, she didn’t know exactly what Karl had in mind.
    As I walked, I thought about my favorite subject—me. What was best for Paul Brenner? Suddenly, I had this image of me going to Vietnam and returning a hero; that hadn’t happened the last two times, but maybe it would this time. Then, I had this other image of me coming home in a box.
    I found myself in a circle of light under a lamp pole, and I wasn’t walking. I turned back toward Karl Hellmann. We stared at each other across the darkness, each of us visible in a pool of light. I called out to him, “Would I have any contacts in ’Nam?”
    “Of course,” he called out. “You’ll have a contact in Saigon, and one in Hanoi. Plus, there may be someone in Hue who can help. The mission is in place. It lacks only a person to fulfill it.”
    “How long would this person need to fulfill it?”
    “You have a twenty-one-day tourist visa. Any longer would arouse suspicion. With luck, you’ll be home sooner.”
    “With bad luck, I’ll be home even sooner.”
    “Think positive. You must visualize success.”
    In fact, I visualized a lot of people gathered in my honor, everyone drinking whiskey; a homecoming party, or an Irish wake.
    I don’t mind dangerous assignments. I thrived on them once. But it was the ’Nam thing . . . the idea that I escaped my destiny and that destiny was stalking me. It was creepy.
    I asked Karl, “If I don’t make it this time, do I get my name on the Wall?”
    “I’ll look into that. But think positive.”
    “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”
    “I’m positive.”
    We both laughed.
    “When do I leave?”
    “Tomorrow morning. Be at Dulles at eight hundred hours. I will e-mail you instructions for a rendezvous at the airport.”
    “My own passport?”
    “Yes. We want light cover. Your friend at the airport will have your visa, tickets, and hotel reservations, money, and a few things to memorize. You need to go in clean.”
    “That’s it?”
    “That’s it. Can I buy you a drink?”
    “When I get home. See you later.”
    Karl said, “Oh, one more thing. I assume you will let Cynthia know you’re away. Don’t be too specific. Would you like me to speak with her after you’re gone?”
    “Do you mean gone, dead, or gone to Asia?”
    “I’ll speak with her after you take off.”
    I didn’t reply.
    Karl said, “Well, then, good luck and thank you.”
    If we were closer, we’d have shaken hands, but we both just gave half-assed salutes by touching our caps. We turned away from each other